


Stjarnavetr - Part I

by renlem



Series: Stjarnavetr [1]
Category: Loki - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Religion & Lore
Genre: Angst, Blood and Violence, Drama, Dubious Consent, Erotica, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Graphic Description, Love, Past Abuse, Physical Abuse, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Romance, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Tension, Sexual Violence, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-03-07 09:57:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 51
Words: 295,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3170630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renlem/pseuds/renlem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stjarnavetr has been exiled from her home realm of Vanaheim and has come to Asgard by the mercy of Odin Allfather and Queen Frigga. She is entrusted by Queen Frigga to further instruct the youngest prince, Loki, in seidr, the magic of the Vanir. Stjarnavetr tries her best to deal successfully with the arrogant and impetuous prince of Asgard, while Loki tries to coax from his new seidr tutor the dark secret of why she was exiled from Vanaheim. In the process, the two come to find solace in each other’s company and Stjarnavetr must confront her feelings about Loki and the horrors of her past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I - Chapter 1

Stjarnavetr

I had come to Asgard when the youngest prince was not yet five hundred years old, but in appearance a grown man already. I might never have made acquaintance with him had it not been for Frigga, Odin Allfather’s wife and queen. She entrusted him to me with a special task in mind when I had come as an exile from my home of Vanaheim.

I had been brought before her during my third week in Asgard as her newest handmaiden. I still remember it so very well; we had been in her receiving chamber and she had bade me rise after I had knelt before her. She smiled at me and I thought how beautiful she was, how regal.

She gestured towards her fireplace. Two chairs were set before it with an intricately carved table between. There were a few books lying there, along with a tray and some cups that a servant had brought earlier. She sat in one of the cushioned chairs and motioned for me to sit as well.

I gingerly sat down, dreading any pain that I might feel. I had been in much pain as of late, but thankfully I could move about now without much trouble. Once I was comfortable, she offered me some wine, which I politely took.

“I am most pleased you are here,” she said kindly.

“As am I,” I replied, lifting the cup to my mouth to take a sip of wine. It was by her and Odin Allfather’s mercy—and pity—that I had been allowed to come here.

“Are you healing well, Stjarnavetr?” she asked, inclining her head towards me.

“Yes. Eir assures me that I will be fully healed within the week, though there will always be… scarring. But she has been able to nearly restore me. Asgard’s healers are truly miraculous, Your Majesty.”

Queen Frigga smiled. “I am very glad. You were in quite a state when you came.”

My smile slowly fell. “Yes.” I did not like talking about this, but she quickly perceived my discomfort and changed the subject.

“So how do you like it?” she inquired, mercifully steering away from the sensitive topic of my healing.

She meant Asgard.

“It is a beautiful realm, Your Majesty, though I’ve not seen much of it yet,” I admitted.

“I hope you will come to love it. It is your home now.”

I managed to smile at her, but then once again the topic of conversation shifted and suddenly the queen looked very solemn.

“Stjarnavetr, I must confess that I have called you here for a particular reason. I have been thinking much on it and I believe you are just the person to help me.”

“Your Majesty?”

“I must tell you something,” the queen admitted, leaning forward slightly in her chair. “I have a problem, but this must be kept from my husband. It is to do with my son.”

I stared warily at her, feeling trepidation. “Prince Thor?”

“No. It is my other son, my youngest son, Loki. I need for him a tutor.”

“A tutor, my queen?”

She smiled. “Oh, yes. He has tutors for his regular lessons, but there are other lessons that Odin knows not of.”

I must have looked perplexed.

“Seidr,” she said.

My eyes widened with realization.

She smiled again. “You see, Stjarnavetr, I have been teaching Loki seidr for many years now, but for reasons which I will not currently discuss here, I can no longer teach him. You are a Vana. You know seidr and are more skilled than even I. I would appreciate it greatly if you would instruct him further, for as I said before, I may not tend to him as I once did.”

“Does Prince Thor not also learn seidr?”

Queen Frigga shook her head. “No. Thor is strong. He has no need of seidr, not like Loki does.”

I nodded. “I understand, Your Majesty. I will try my best to do as you have said.”

She grinned at me and stood up. I rose as she came around the table to me, every slight movement causing the folds of her dress and jewels to twinkle in the flickering orange firelight. Once she stood before me, she embraced me warmly and kissed me on the cheek.

“You will be good for him, Stjarnavetr,” she whispered. “Hopefully you will be able to calm him.”

I did not react to that, for at the time I did not know what she meant by “calm him.”

Within a week, though, I found out. Prince Loki was the epitome of lechery. He was especially prone to deflowering the queen’s handmaidens, but he was not outstandingly picky—servants and lower palace staff suited him, as well.

“Try to be his friend,” Queen Frigga had told me later, after explaining to me in full my new duties. “He is not like Thor, who makes them so easily and is so admired.”

I promised to do this to the utmost of my ability, for I was indebted to the queen for having taken me in from Vanaheim, given my history. What a sad and bloody history it was, too.

I was not Asgardian, you see. I was of the Vanir, a race as similar and slow-aging as the Aesir, but more in tune with nature and magic, a freer and more laidback people. The Vanir were adept users of seidr, a type of powerful sorcery, and were manipulators of energy and matter, both dark and light.

This had not always worked in the favor of the Vanir, though. Vanaheim and Asgard had not always been allies. Once, thousands of years ago, the two realms had warred. Much blood was spilled then, for Asgard had been wary of the power of the Vanir and there was much suspicion and distrust. Ultimately, though, the two realms came to find peace. Some of the Vanir went to Asgard in good will to live and some of the Aesir to Vanaheim. To Asgard, from Vanaheim, went the siblings Frey and Freyja. It was Freyja who generously taught seidr to Odin Allfather, I later learned, who in turn taught it to Queen Frigga, who then taught it to Loki.

But the queen could no longer further her son’s magical studies and so asked me to do it. I would do it unquestioningly, for I was her handmaiden now and in great debt to her. However, she would release me from the stricter duties of a handmaiden—my duty was first and foremost to instruct Prince Loki in seidr. If it pleased me, though, I could mingle with her other ladies, who tended to keep to the queen’s own receiving chamber. Lastly, she made me a lady in my own right, as most of her handmaidens were daughters of the nobility and I originally nothing more than a Vana commoner.

And yet now I was a citizen of Asgard and tutor to the prince.

__

I met Prince Loki for the first time a week after Queen Frigga told me I would be instructing him in seidr. She had wished to give me a little more time to heal, something I was most grateful for.

In that time, however, I had been thinking much on her comment to me earlier about “calming” Loki down. I had wondered as to its implication and now suspected what she had meant once I found out about Prince Loki’s itinerant sexual appetites. Did the queen expect me to become Loki’s mistress, given my history in Vanaheim, and considering that Loki did not keep one? Did she think that I would be willing to bed the prince and keep him from soiling half of the palace staff and her retinue? The thought greatly distressed me, for I did not put it past the queen to have an ulterior motive for taking me in.

I mulled over this while we waited for the prince to arrive. Queen Frigga had orchestrated the meeting by having both Loki and I to come to her chambers. Since the king did not know of Loki’s seidr lessons, she thought it best if we first met privately under her own eye.

While we waited, the queen spoke to me of Loki. I could tell she loved him very much, though I had heard he was not the most genial individual. And so I was surprised when she told me this.

“I will tell you, Stjarnavetr, that my son is not… the most affable. He can be blunt. And rude.”

I only smiled, though. “I am used to it, Your Majesty. I am sure I will be able to handle him.”

She smiled back at me, but still looked unsure. Just then, the doors to her chambers opened. One of the Einherjar from outside announced, “His Highness, Prince Loki.”

I stood up as he entered and I could feel Queen Frigga watching me study her son.

He was very tall, but not broad at all like his brother Thor, who I had caught glimpses of. While Thor resembled a ruddy, golden-haired bull, Prince Loki resembled a hungry black cat, slim and sinewy and lean, yet imposing. His lanky black hair, cut to just above his shoulders, was oiled and raked back; it contrasted mightily with his pallid complexion. His lips were long and thin and his large eyes, which were a startlingly pale, lucent green, were situated under neat, straight eyebrows. His face was long as well, but pleasingly angular. A very handsome prince, I thought.

He came to stand in front of us, clad in an impressive conglomeration of leather and metal, and inclined his head towards his mother, and then turned to me. He smiled politely.

“This is the one from Vanaheim, then?” he asked, never taking his eyes off of me. “She will be taking over for the seidr lessons?”

“Yes, Loki. This is Lady Stjarnavetr.”

I bowed to him. “Your Highness.”

When I stood back up, he took my hand and lightly kissed it.

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” he said, his voice low and breath warm on my skin. I pulled my hand back, which was I am sure somewhat rude, but him touching me like that made me nervous. I suspected it was because of what had happened to me only a month ago.

“And you as well,” I replied softly as he straightened.

Loki continued to stare at me and I glanced towards the queen.

“Well,” she remarked suddenly, with an air of finality. “Loki knows this, but the lessons will always take place in his chambers. There is an illusory spell I’ve cast over them so Heimdall the gatekeeper may not see that Loki practices seidr. The king would not be pleased at all.”

I nodded in understanding, for I knew of Heimdall. He was the gatekeeper of Bifröst, the rainbow bridge. Heimdall was an incredible individual; there was nowhere he could not see with those golden eyes of his, unless you had purposefully blocked his sight, as the queen had done with Loki’s chambers.

And then Queen Frigga said, “I will leave you two alone now so you may get to know each other a little better.”

I looked at her, somewhat in alarm, and she smiled as she left. Once the doors had closed behind her, I slowly looked back at the prince, who was still staring at me.

He wordlessly went to take a seat in front of the queen’s fireplace, where a fire was burning merrily, and gestured for me to sit across from him. As I did so, he crossed his legs and propped his arms on the armrests. He looked very at ease as opposed to me. My hands were clasped in my lap and my knees were pressed together.

He noticed my anxiety.

“Why do you look so?” he inquired.

“I am nervous,” I said truthfully.

He smiled thinly. “Do not be. We shall come to know one another better.”

I only gave a small nod.

“So how do you like Asgard so far?”

I hesitated. I had told the queen I thought it a beautiful realm—which I did—but I had not told her the things that had confused me. However, Loki seemed the type that would appreciate such honesty. 

Finally I admitted, “It is… strange.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Strange?”

I faltered, worried suddenly that I might have offended him. “I did not mean strange, I only meant…”

He laughed at me, though. “I take no offense, Lady Stjarnavetr. Come, what do you find strange about us Asgardians?”

“For starters, your way of speaking—”

“My way of speaking?” he interrupted, cocking an eyebrow.

“Yes, it is odd. I am not used to the Asgardian accent.”

He chuckled. “I think you will find that you are the odd one out, then.”

I looked down at my lap, wondering why it was that I felt so uncomfortable around him.

“But that is not necessarily a bad thing,” he observed, I think in part trying to alleviate his words before.

When I did not speak again, I think he realized that he would have to push me to speak. However, I also could tell that Loki felt obligated to do this because his mother had surely asked him to. I wondered if he truly cared to hear my answers to his questions or if I interested him at all. He appeared the sort that would quickly move onto something more exciting if his current pastime bored him in the least bit.

That admittedly made me feel bad, but I certainly was no stranger to the ephemeral whims of princes.

“Lady Stjarnavetr?”

I must have looked uncomfortable when he said that because he tilted his head. 

I hesitated, but then answered his questioning gaze. “I am not used yet to being… Lady Stjarnavetr.”

“What, then, are you used to being?”

“Certainly not somebody of such… standing.”

He smiled knowingly and I did not like his look. “So what were you in Vanaheim?”

“I… I was nothing. I come from nothing.”

“And yet here you sit. You are not nothing anymore.”

I gave a little nod, but did not reply.

And then he asked, “Are you pleased to be here?”

My voice was quiet. “I feel I am lucky to be here.”

But he did not—could not—realize my meaning.

He smiled. “I can imagine Asgard’s grandeur must be overwhelming for you, then.”

I took slight offense to that and demanded, “Why is that?”

He raised his eyebrows at my sudden alertness. Clearly he enjoyed teasing.

“I know Vanaheim is not the most illustrious realm in all the Nine Realms—”

“But certainly not the least illustrious,” I retorted, feeling defensive of my home.

“Certainly,” he agreed.

Silence.

“So what is it that you plan to teach me, my enchantress?”

I did not like that, but did not address it.

“The queen has said she will lend me some books, as I no longer… as I have none of my own. I have never taught before, so this will be a learning process for me as much as it will be for you. I pray you will have patience with me, Your Highness.”

He smiled at me. “I have no doubt that you shall excel. And worry not, Lady Stjarnavetr. I am very patient.”

__

Less than an hour later, I returned to my own chambers. They were small, but cozy, and had been given to me most generously by Queen Frigga. I readied myself for bed—I bathed, dressed in my nightgown, and got into bed.

As I lay there staring up at the ceiling, my hands folded over my belly, I thought of Loki.

I had heard much already about him in my time here, of his libidinousness. I would have thought that of the two princes, Thor would be the one cavorting so shamelessly with the female servants of the palace, teasing them, enticing them, drawing them into dark corridors and claiming them for himself. But this was not so. While I learned that Thor did take those women he wished to, he was nowhere near as adventurous as his younger brother. Loki, I came to learn, was well known among the female servants and even the ladies of the nobility. They had a name for him, whispered between each other in giggles and mournful sighs: Gullhyrndr—the golden-horned—for his name alone was forbidden to be spoken by any other but his immediate family.

It was as if he strove to bed a new one each week. He played the part of adoring wooer so well, but after he had taken them, after he had gotten what he wanted out of them, he would never look at them again. Why he thought it almost a game to deflower the maidens of his own mother, why he thought it mischief to have his way with all the female servants, I did not know. But in truth, I did not much care. I had seen this in Vanaheim; I was no stranger to the secret lives of the nobility.

And yet, I was determined to keep the relationship between the prince and I as chaste as possible, if what I suspected of the queen was in fact true. I did not think I could bear that all over again, what had happened in Vanaheim to cause my coming to Asgard. I was still healing after my ordeal there. 

Eir, the head healer of Asgard, had told me the pain would soon pass; she had reversed the damage done to me as best she could and nothing more could be done, but she had been able to restore much of me and for that I was infinitely grateful. The physical discomfort served only as a bitter reminder of the horror I had endured in Vanaheim.

I was in Asgard now and would do as I was told to ensure my place and gain trust here. I figured Loki might try to have me one way or another simply because I was within his reach and a new, exotic prize to be had, but he would not touch me, no matter what the queen thought, or hoped, might happen.

Soon enough it came time for our seidr lessons to begin. I was quite nervous, for I had never done anything of this sort and had heard many disquieting things about Prince Loki’s ever-changing moods and his grating personality.

But despite my nervousness, our first seidr lesson went much better than expected.


	2. Part I - Chapter 2

Stjarnavetr

I had gone to Loki’s chambers in the morning, a week or so after first meeting him. Since then, I had been given a tour of the palace, as well as a quick tour of the city. Queen Frigga wished me acquainted with the realm and its people, since I would be living here now. I tried my best to relate to her how much I appreciated her kindness to me, but she merely waved it away, saying as long as I could help Prince Loki with his seidr, she was pleased with me. However, she had expressly forbidden me from teaching Loki any truly advanced spells. She thought he might use one in jest and in the process cause serious mayhem. She said he had done it before.

I was determined to not disappoint her and was glad for the distraction, anyway. I had only been in Asgard a little over a month now and Vanaheim was still fresh in my mind. Anything that could make me forget, or think less on what had happened to me, was a welcome relief.

And so it was with hopefulness that I went to see Loki that first time. I knocked on his door and waited in silence, holding tight to the books of runes I had brought. The queen had lent them to me for our first few lessons, though I did not expect to use them. They were rather sophisticated and I was not sure Loki would be able to make use of them. Truly I only wished to know what Loki already knew so I could decide where to start with his lessons.

As I stood there, I suddenly realized that there were no Einherjar standing outside his chambers. I had seen two always stationed outside the king’s and queen’s, and even Thor, the eldest prince’s. I wondered if it was Loki’s own choice to leave his rooms unguarded like that.

My stomach knotted in trepidation when the door did not open and I did not hear any sound from the other side. I knocked again, a little harder this time.

Suddenly, the door swung open and I flinched. The prince stood there in black pants and a green tunic that was unlaced at the collar. I was so surprised by his appearance that I forgot to bow. He squinted at me and it was obvious he had just been woken by my knocking, for his expression was one of annoyance. 

But his frown quickly melted into a sly smile. He opened the door even wider and said, “Come in, Lady Stjarnavetr.”

I entered slowly.

Loki’s chambers were not as expansive as I would have thought, though they were still of a fairly good size. The left side of his chambers featured a large, ornately carved table, where I assumed he took his meals privately when he did, and a couch and a few heavy chairs. There was an open doorway that led to a private balcony outside, much like the one in my own room. I assumed Loki’s balcony was much larger than mine, though.

His own fireplace had two chairs and a table situated in front of it, much like the queen’s, and I was pleased to see one of his walls completely taken up with bookshelves. Thick fur rugs covered the floor and intricate tapestries hung on the walls, depicting battles and runes. But other than these items, his chambers were rather sparsely furnished. I did not see any personal items lying about.

I went to his table and happened to glance over into another open doorway, which I then saw led to his bedchamber. I only caught a fleeting glimpse of his bed inside; it was large and decked in crimson sheets, much more sumptuous than my own. I supposed the door that led to his bath chamber was in there as well, as opposed to my own being on the main room.

I set the books down carefully on the table and looked at him. “May I sit?”

He cocked an eyebrow and nodded.

I sat down, relieved to feel no discomfort, as Loki walked towards me. He stared expectantly at me. He still looked tired.

“Were you expecting me, Prince Loki?” I asked, somewhat tentatively. “I did say at nine…”

“Yes, yes,” he said dismissively, waving his hand. But it was obvious he had just woken up.

This would not do.

“I realize I am not the queen,” I ventured, “but I would appreciate it, Your Highness, if you were to be ready for our appointments.”

Loki snorted in what sounded like derision and went to sit in the chair across from me.

I looked down, feeling unsure. I did not wish to begin our first lesson badly and so I did not linger on his dismissal of my request. I figured if he kept it up, I could ask the queen for help with him, though I did not wish it to come to that.

Just as I looked up and went to speak, Loki interrupted me. 

“Let us not begin with this,” he said, suddenly looking very awake. He leaned across the table and laced his fingers together in front of him. “We were introduced some days ago, but I still know hardly anything about you. Let us talk first.”

I nodded once and smiled, indicating my consent. Perhaps it would not be so bad after all.

He smiled thinly at me. “So they call you the Whore of Vanaheim.”

My smile slowly fell. 

I knew, of course, that my deeds in Vanaheim were not unknown here. How could they be? Diplomats gossiped just like anybody else. I had not expected my previous position in Vanaheim to have gone unnoticed here, but I had not expected such brusque candor, especially from he who I would be teaching.

I looked down at the books sitting in front of me. I ran my fingers absently over one of the spines. Was I not even able to evade the gossip here?

“Once mistress to Valdrlund?” Loki continued, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “Prince of Vanaheim, soon to be king.”

“Yes,” I whispered, not bothering to deny it. 

“Exiled here to Asgard and now my tutor.”

I slowly looked up at him and he was still smiling. “It seems you already know plenty about me, Your Highness.”

But he did not address my statement. “Exiled for what, may I ask? Did Valdrlund tire of you? Find a new mistress? Surely there must have been a reason my mother and father allowed you to come here after being banished from Vanaheim. Surely you had something to offer, not just seidr… that is just a pretense, isn’t it?”

My gaze hardened. “I was taken in by Queen Frigga and appointed the task of furthering your studies in seidr. I can assure you, Your Highness, there is nothing more to it.”

I hoped that was true, anyway.

But Loki only gave me a shrewd smile. He was playing with me.

The queen had told me Loki could be both difficult and rude. Since I was hopefully to be his tutor for perhaps the next few decades, it was alright that I make sure he knew I was in charge during lessons. I had known he would be unruly, but I did not feel much like clashing with him. I did not like confrontation and so did not make a retort to Loki’s allegations.

When I did not rise to take the bait, his smile gradually disappeared. He leaned back and stared at me for a long while, as if thinking. Finally, he said, “Let us begin, then.”

I supposed he had grown bored tormenting me.

“Since this is our first lesson,” I stated, pretending as if I had not heard his previous comments to me, “I thought that I would see first what you can do. What the queen has taught you.”

“Much,” he replied arrogantly.

“Well, yes, thank you for that, but I would like to see. Beginning with the basics.”

Loki rolled his eyes. “What basics?”

“I have heard that you are quite good at illusions.”

Loki smiled, looking proud. “Yes.”

“Will you show me, then?”

“What would you like to see?”

I thought for a moment. “How about Prince Thor?”

Loki grimaced, but stood up and came around the table so I could see all of him. I watched as the green energy of his seidr crackled across his body and then there stood Thor.

“Very good,” I said with a smile. “Now Odin Allfather.”

Another flash of green. There was the king.

“And now… me.”

Loki did not immediately change forms as he had with his brother and father. 

Let me see how good he was, as to cast the illusion of another over yourself, you must have been around them and seen them up-close. Odin Allfather’s shape studied me for a long moment, his eyes traveling up and down my seated form. Finally, there was another crackle of seidr and I stood there.

I stood up, approached Loki, and circled him.

Every aspect of it was perfect. It was a very good illusion.

“Perfect,” I finally said. “You may revert.”

Suddenly it was not my face I was looking into, but his.

“So what else can you do, Prince Loki?”

“Many things,” he rejoined smugly.

“Can you levitate? Cast spells? Make potions? Affect the weather? Cause animals, or people, to do your bidding?”

Loki stared at me. “No.”

“None of them?”

“No.”

“Hmm. What about predict the future?”

“Predict the future?” Loki asked, raising his eyebrows. “Of course not. Can you?”

“No. That is not a skill that can be learned. You must be born with the ability. Or you could drink from Mímir’s Well.”

“Then why ask me?” he retorted, somewhat irritably.

But before I could respond, there came a knock at his door.

Loki crossed the floor and opened it to find Queen Frigga standing there. She smiled at her son and he wordlessly stepped aside so she could enter. When she saw me, her smile grew. She glanced at Loki to say something, but then seemed to just notice his appearance.

“Loki, how disgraceful!” she exclaimed.

“Mother?”

“How dare you begin your lessons with Lady Stjarnavetr looking such a mess. It looks like you just rolled out of bed. Why are you not dressed?”

Loki frowned. There was a shimmer of green light and suddenly he stood there donned in his ceremonial attire, complete with his horned helmet and flowing green cape. I stared at him, for he looked so incredibly imposing. 

“Is this better?” he said shortly.

“You’re a little overdressed, but it will do,” Queen Frigga replied. She turned to me. “Is everything well?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” I explained. “I was just inquiring about L—the Prince’s—current abilities. He has demonstrated some for me.”

The queen nodded. “I am glad things are going well. I just wished to drop by to see.”

“Everything is fine, Mother,” Loki said tersely. He obviously did not think her dropping by necessary. 

She flashed another smile at me, which made me feel better about the whole situation, and turned to leave. Right before Loki shut the door, she turned around and said seriously to him, “Be good.”

He rolled his eyes as he shut the door.

Immediately, his ceremonial armor melted off of him in a flash of green and he was once again disheveled. Without looking at me, he returned to the table and sat down. Before I could seat myself, he remarked, “I want to see you change form.”

“Me? Whatever for?”

He grinned. “You are my tutor, are you not? I want to be sure you are capable.”

“Do you think the queen would appoint one who is not capable of seidr as tutor to her son?” I asked mildly.

“Will you not, then?” He raised his eyebrows.

I sighed. “What would you have me as?”

“Me.”

I stared at him, almost in exasperation, but a few moments later, in my own flare of green light, changed my form. I did not study him as he had me. Being a Vana, and highly skilled with seidr, I did not need to prepare myself as he, the student, did.

I had, at the last moment, decided to transform into him while wearing his ceremonial attire. I was taller now, especially with the helmet, and looked around in surprise. 

“You are quite tall,” I observed.

Loki did not reply to me, but stood up and came towards me. I was now on level with him and he looked into my eyes.

He nodded and circled me as I had him only moments ago.

“Did you use illusions often in Vanaheim?” he inquired, coming to stand before me. I flinched when he took my hand in his, but forced myself not to jerk away from him. I watched as he lightly traced the lines of my palm—his palm—with his fingers. His touch made my skin prickle.

“No, there was no need,” I answered. And then, “What are you doing?”

He looked back up at me. “Of course I can make doubles of myself, but they are not real. Not solid, you know. It is so odd to see myself like this and be able to touch without my hand going through.”

I was silent.

“Why did you not?” he asked curiously.

“Why did I not what?”

“Why did you never cast illusions?”

“There was no need,” I repeated.

“Have you ever had someone while in another form?”

I raised my eyebrows and my lips parted in surprise. I was shocked at the way he spoke so casually about sex, but would very soon become accustomed to it. Loki spoke about such private matters, like lovemaking, as if they were not private. He was not one to blush at the thought of any type of sex.

“I have not,” I answered quietly, somewhat offended.

“How unimaginative Valdrlund must have been,” he whispered, letting his fingertips brush against my wrist.

The name of my old lover, spoken in such a way, made me uncomfortable. The memories were still so raw.

Loki noticed and quickly released my hand.

“Are you satisfied, then?” I asked, taking a step back.

“Yes.”

I took my regular form and then Loki said, “So what is it that you are teaching me today, Lady Stjarnavetr?”

“I know not—”

“Oh, Mother would not be pleased at all to hear that,” Loki chuckled.

“I only meant that I do not yet—”

“What shall we do, then? To take up these hours we have?” he murmured, cocking an eyebrow and taking a step towards me. I took a step back, for he was quite close; I could smell him. He smelled slightly musky and of leather. 

I stared at him in amazement. Queen Frigga had warned me, but I had never expected him to be so forward—so suddenly.

“Surely not what you have in mind,” I stated firmly, taking another step back.

He laughed at my discomfort and turned around. He went back to his table and dramatically seated himself in one of the chairs, lazily watching me as I made my way to the table and sat down.

“So what have you got there?” he asked, eyes flickering down to the books of runes I had brought.

“Runes,” I responded. “I think they’re far too advanced for you.”

He scoffed. “I will be the judge of that.”

He reached across the table and took one. He opened it and thumbed through it. I watched his eyes scan the pages; he was a very fast reader. After a few minutes, he closed the book and slid it back across the table to me. 

“You were correct in your assumption that they are far too advanced for me.”

When I laughed, he gave me a half-smile. I was surprised at my own laugh. Recently it felt as if I might never laugh again—and especially at something so trivial. 

“Will I be learning those spells?” he inquired. 

“Hopefully.”

“Hopefully?”

“If the queen deems me worthy to continue as your seidr tutor—”

“I have no doubt that she will,” he interrupted, waving his hand. “Besides, I like you. I believe you know what you are doing.”

His words, though fairly inconsequential, thrilled me. I was glad he did not already hate or resent me. After all, I had replaced his mother for this task. I did not wish for there to be discord between us already; I wanted the transition to be as gentle as possible for both of us. So far, Loki did not seem to mind me not being his mother.

I stood up and managed a small smile. “Then I am glad. I think I have enough to go on.”

“What?” he said, straightening in the chair. “You’re leaving already? It’s scarce been an hour. I’ve not frightened you off already, have I?”

My smile widened as I gathered my books. “It would take quite a bit for you to scare me off.”

I made my way to the door, the books in my arms. Before I opened it, I turned back to him. His eyes were on me. I said, “Will you please remember that lessons are thrice a week, at nine in the morning, Prince Loki?”

He snorted.

I took that as a yes.

“Until next time,” I said with a slight smile, bowing my head once before leaving.


	3. Part I - Chapter 3

Stjarnavetr

I spent those next few days preparing Loki’s future lessons and trying to mingle with Queen Frigga’s other handmaidens. In Vanaheim, the tittering and gossiping had irritated me; I had very much disliked the other women of the court. Hopefully in Asgard they were a different breed of titterers and gossipers.

I sat in the queen’s chambers with them all, about a dozen. Some played cards, others sewed, while others simply talked. Queen Frigga had been there before, but had left suddenly for some reason to do with the Allfather.

I sat in the group that tittered, trying to focus on what the women were talking about.

Men. Of course. How tedious.

I heard “Gullhyrndr” from across the room. I glanced over. Four of the handmaidens were playing cards on the table. They were surely talking about Loki. Since he was the prince, we were not allowed to speak his name intimately unless, of course, referring to him as either Prince or Prince Loki. And here, where the topics of conversation often turned to unspeakable things, even the title of “Prince” was not afforded.

I turned back to the topic at hand in my group. Lady Gullhár, who was the daughter of Odin Allfather’s foremost lieutenant, was speaking with one whose name began with an M, about a guard she thought was trying to seduce her.

I thought it a bit dull and drifted in and out of my own thoughts for a while.

Suddenly, “—Stjarnavetr?”

I looked up. The one whose name began with an M had asked me a question.

“I am sorry, what?”

“The prince,” she reiterated.

“The prince..?” I shook my head.

“Did he take you?” she asked simply.

“I beg your pardon?” I balked.

The others giggled.

“Did he have you? You went to his chambers, did you not?” The girl—Maerrhár—grinned.

“No,” I said sharply. “I mean, I did go to his chambers, but we did not—why would you think that?”

“Were you not the mistress of Valdrlund, prince of Vanaheim?” Gullhár inquired curiously.

I had intended to be angry, but they asked me with such sincerity. Was being a mistress not as looked down upon here? They spoke of it so flippantly.

“I was,” I said carefully, staring. All of them knew, then, of my status in Vanaheim. If Loki had known, why not them?

Another one, her name was Málvit, said, “Were you not brought here for the prince? The queen has expressed her concerns over how many women he takes for himself. She wants him to settle down.”

“As in marry?”

“No. A mistress would suit him, she thinks,” Gullhár replied promptly.

“Are you that?” Maerrhár inquired, without malice.

I shook my head. “No.”

Gods, I had been right. The queen hoped that I might become Loki’s mistress. Surely, though, the seidr had not been a pretense for warming her son’s bed? The queen had needed a tutor for Loki since she could no longer do it.

“Then why are you here?” Maerrhár pressed. “We thought the queen had brought you from Vanaheim for the prince.”

Had brought me from Vanaheim for the prince? I was disgusted.

“I am Loki’s tutor,” I said tightly.

“For what?” Málvit asked.

“Well, I am a Vana, am I not? Lo—he—the prince—he is royal. Does he not need to know as much as possible about the other realms, if he is ever to rule? I am here to instruct him in the ways of the Vanir.”

“Oh,” they all said. They did not believe me, but they did not look down upon me, which was a small comfort. 

As if reading my thoughts, Gullhár added, “We did not mean to make you uncomfortable, Lady Stjarnavetr. We would not be jealous.”

“Jealous!”

“Yes, none of us have been taken by the prince.”

“Taken by him?”

“Gaefuleysi has had him. Not too long ago, in fact—” Maerrhár inconspicuously pointed to one of the handmaidens across the room “—as has Maeroerr, Maerkátr, Naermen, and Hlýdnimen. Perhaps some of the others, I am not sure.”

They all laughed at my expression, one of shock.

“They are always coming and going, the queen’s handmaidens. She would not have any girls tainted by her son serving her. She always finds out,” explained Gullhár.

“How?” I asked softly.

Gullhár shrugged. “I know not. It may take a while, but she always finds out.”

__

Loki was actually fully awake for our next lesson and I even more nervous than the first time. Now that I knew what the queen hoped for, how would I ever feel normal around her son? Did Loki know what his mother intended? Gods, I hoped not.

“Please, Stjarna, come in,” Loki purred, holding the door open for me.

I ignored his shortening of my name. He shut the door and stood waiting.

“I am glad to see you dressed,” I observed, noticing that he was properly attired this morning. His hair was not mussed, nor his shirt hanging open at the collar. His hair was raked back and he wore one of his leather surcoats.

“Yes. As are you. Might I add, you look lovely.”

I paused, feeling heat in my cheeks.

All I wore was a pale pink dress with gold embroidery and a gold belt. It was not meant to be particularly stunning; in fact, I thought it too rich. I had always favored more modest clothing, but it was not my place to say. I would gladly wear this since the queen had given it to me. She had created an entirely new wardrobe for me since I had come from Vanaheim with naught but the bloodied clothes on my back. 

“Well, let us begin,” I said, trying to ignore Loki’s comment.

Loki grinned. “Ah. So what will it be today?”

“Levitation.”

Loki raised his eyebrows, as if impressed. “Levitation? Well, it would certainly be useful to be able to levitate…”

“Not you,” I interrupted. “That is too advanced. I mean levitate objects.”

“Oh.”

I began picking up various items in the chamber. A heavy box made of wood and a goblet, half-full with wine that he likely had not finished from the night before. I set them on his table.

I remarked, “For a prince, such as yourself, you keep your chambers immaculate.”

Loki looked at me for a moment before laughing. “Thank not me, but the chambermaid who comes in after I leave.”

I smiled at his comment and then realized I needed more objects. I looked down at my front and touched the brooch pinned to my breast. I took it off my dress and set it carefully upon the table. 

“This should be sufficient for today.” I turned around and saw him gazing at me. I motioned to one of the chairs by his table. “Will you help me?” I gestured towards the other side of his main room, indicating that I wanted him to move them.

Loki walked over to the table, picked the chair up, and carried it to the other side of his room. He put the chair down near the wall and turned to fetch me another one, but stopped midstride.

I stood still, arm slightly outstretched, and fingers splayed in the air. I had one of his chairs suspended a few inches above the floor, slowly making its way towards him. With a flick of my wrist, I turned the chair in midair and it settled serenely onto the floor next to the other chair.

He glanced up at me and gave me a half-smile. “Impressive.”

“Now sit, please.”

He sat and I went to sit next to him.

With my finger, I wrote the runes to the spell for levitation in front of him. They hovered there, shimmering green before his eyes. 

“Memorize this.”

“Done,” he said.

I waved my hand in the air. The runes disappeared.

Loki smiled haughtily. He extended his hand and focused on one of the objects—I knew not which one—and I heard him whisper the runes. A truly skilled user of seidr would not have to recite the runes aloud, or even in their head. Hopefully it would come to the point where Loki could make something happen by simply willing it. But this was a new spell for Loki, so I did not say anything.

But nothing happened. The objects sat contentedly on the table.

He tried again and again and again. Soon his hand began to tremble. 

“Are you alright?” I inquired.

He hissed through his teeth, but did not reply. I could tell he was becoming frustrated.

I laughed softly at him, which probably was not the wisest thing to do. It made him angrier. 

“It’s not working!” he snapped, looking at me in irritation. 

“Try again,” I said demurely. I retraced the glowing runes in the air.

He repeated the runes quietly to himself, focusing intently on them, as if he had not properly memorized them the first time. I waved my hand again, and the runes dissipated.

Loki tried again to levitate one of the objects. He must have been focusing on the goblet because I saw it teeter briefly on the table. He tried again, gritting his teeth; the goblet trembled and then fell over. The wine splashed out onto the table and dripped onto the floor.

I had been about to congratulate Loki for making it move at all when suddenly he leapt out of the chair so mightily that it flew backwards and slammed into the wall. I jumped, startled at his sudden reaction, and watched him stalk lithely over to the table. He grabbed the cup and slammed it back onto the table in an upright position.

Loki took a step back and attempted to levitate it again. I stared at him, amazed at his sudden explosion of anger.

He failed again. This time he cursed and knocked the goblet off of the table.

But instead of staring open-mouthed now, I laughed; I could not help it.

“You mock me?” he growled, collapsing onto the couch against the wall near his table. He stretched his long legs out and turned his head to stare idly at me.

“It is because you are so dramatic, Prince Loki,” I answered with a small smile. I did not want him to think I was mocking him, for I did not wish to upset him further. 

He mumbled something incoherent and glanced away, coming down from his heated outburst.

Without meaning to, I studied his lounging form and suddenly imagined him lying there with one of the queen’s women, one of them I had seen earlier, running his long fingers through her dark hair, his bare hips nestled snugly between her thighs.

I blinked and looked quickly away, chastising myself for imagining such a thing. Thankfully Loki did not see how my cheeks reddened; he was now staring at the goblet on the floor. Why had I thought of that, though? Was it because I knew the queen had intended for me to sleep with him and it was nearly all I thought of now?

I quickly collected myself and stood up. “Let us try again,” I said softly.

Loki’s expression darkened, but he stood up and came over to me. He picked up the one he had knocked over and heavily sat down. With a wave of my hand, I put the goblet back on the table from across the room. I lowered myself into my own chair and looked at him.

“Do you remember the runes?”

“Of course,” he responded curtly, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye.

He extended his arm once again, fingers splayed in the air. His lips formed the words as he concentrated, but he did not move any of the items. He tried a few more times and began to grow frustrated all over again.

“Wait,” I said, before he could turn something over in his anger. I stood up and went behind the chair to stand behind him. “Hold your arm out.”

He lifted his arm.

And then I spoke a little more tentatively. “May I touch you?”

He turned his head and his smile was lascivious, his voice a little lower than normal. “Lady Stjarna, you may touch me wherever you wish.”

Heat flared in my cheeks at that, but I ignored his attempted libidinousness and bent down to place my arm against his and my palm over top of his hand. Though I felt discomfort at touching him like this, I knew no other way to do it.

“This will help,” I explained. “Try again.”

I heard him whisper the words and felt the warmth of his seidr in his hand. I lightly curled my fingers with his, urging some of my own seidr to transfer. It did, quite easily, and I could feel his seidr surge in reaction to mine.

The object he must have been focusing on—the box—flew off the table backwards and crashed into the bookshelves behind it, nearly fifteen feet in distance.

I quickly released his hand, stood up, and went to stand next to him.

“Now try again,” I ordered. “With the goblet.”

“What?” he said, aghast. “Not even a congratulations?”

“It was only because I helped that it moved. But you felt my seidr?”

He nodded and looked up at me. “It was very powerful.” 

“You must put something similar to that behind the spell.”

“That much?”

“Yes,” I responded, walking towards the table.

I waved my hand and the box hovered in the air and settled back onto the table. I turned and looked at Loki, who was watching me intently.

“Again,” I said, motioning to the objects.

He extended his hand.

For the next hour, I tried to get him to move one of the objects by himself. I refused to help him again and though he did not successfully levitate one of the objects, he was able to knock the goblet over again.

Finally, he gave a strangled cry and jumped up, furious.

“Are you going to overturn the table in your anger?” I asked languidly, sitting on the couch. I had been coaching him from afar. “Try to do it without touching it.”

He glared at me. He did not like to be ridiculed. 

I pressed my lips together and looked down, shocked by my own impertinence. I looked back up and said, in what I hoped was an encouraging tone, “You will soon master it.”

He sneered at me. “You speak to me as if I was a child.”

“Then do not act like a child,” I retorted. But as soon as the words were out of my mouth, I bit my lip. 

Loki only stared at me; I could not read his expression, though I assumed he was angry.

“I am sorry,” I said quickly. “Please forgive me, Your Highness, I did not mean to—”

“It matters not,” he said crossly, cutting me off with a wave of his hand. He walked over and sat down rather gracefully next to me. “I will have mastered it by our next lesson.”

I raised my eyebrows at him. Queen Frigga had praised his abilities mightily, but I did not expect him to have mastered levitation by our next lesson.

“Hmm,” was all I said. 

He looked at me, his eyes narrowed. Suddenly his expression relaxed and he stretched his legs out. “So you never told me.”

“What did I never tell you, Your Highness?”

“Why my mother and father granted you refuge here.”

I slowly turned my head and looked straight ahead, quite suddenly feeling uneasy.

No. I did not think he knew the queen’s ulterior motive for my having been brought here after my exile in Vanaheim. At least, I desperately hoped not.

“So why were you exiled?” he inquired. He sat forward and leaned towards me, eyebrows raised. I leaned away.

“I would rather not speak of it,” I whispered.

“Oh, come now,” he urged, a smile playing at the edge of his lips.

I stood up. It was time for me to go. “If it pleases Your Highness, I will depart now. I think we’ve practiced enough for today.”

“Oh, but it does not please me at all,” he objected, rising to his feet. “I want to know.”

I set my jaw and looked at him, willing him to stop. Willing him to let me alone. “I would not speak of it,” I repeated, with an air of finality. I looked down and bowed my head towards him. As I turned around, I felt his fingers wrap around my wrist.

I turned around, almost in a panic; his very touch seemed to send a shock through me. “Lok—Your Highness,” I managed, grabbing his wrist. I looked up at him. “What—”

“You were going to forget your brooch,” he said casually, eyes fixed on mine, seemingly oblivious to my flustered state.

He slowly let go of me, making sure to let his fingers drift down my hand and over my fingers as I pulled away. I held my hand up to my chest and watched him as he went to the table, plucked my brooch off, and walked back over to me.

I held out my hand to take it back, but he pushed my fingers out of the way and deftly pinned the brooch to the fabric at my breast. I could feel the heat rise in my face and he smiled at me. His teeth were white and straight, his smile so large.

“Until next time, Lady Stjarna,” he said sensuously, echoing my words from our first lesson. He led me to the door and opened it for me. He had his hand on my lower back and I could practically feel his touch through my dress and on my bare skin.

I left his chambers and though I should have gone to the queen’s, I went straight to my own. I felt odd and my mind was racing. Once safely inside my own rooms, I sat on the edge of my bed and put my face in my hands. I could feel this dread rising in my throat and I felt so confused, but I did not know why.

All I could think of was Valdrlund. The prince of Vanaheim, he whose bed I had warmed for near a century. Loving, insufferable, treacherous Valdrlund. I thought of his face, his body, his lips pressed hard to mine that night—my last night with him. I could hear him whispering my name, whispering his love, all the while knowing of the horror that awaited me in just a few hours’ time…

I could not do it. I cared not if the queen hoped I would fall into Loki’s bed. Not after Vanaheim. I would not lower myself to that again. I was not sure I could, even if I wanted to. The internal damage, Eir told me, had been extensive; she had assured me that I was still able to lie with another, and perhaps even be able to take pleasure in it, but never again would I bear children. But I was not so sure. I would not risk it. I would never—could never—open my body to another.

I put my hands on either side of my head and shook my head, trying to once again banish these bloody memories I was working so hard to forget.


	4. Part I - Chapter 4

Stjarnavetr

Much to my surprise, recommencing our lesson on levitation a couple of days later, I found Loki entirely able to levitate any object I placed in front of him. He was smug about it.

“I told you, Stjarna,” he said haughtily, flicking his wrist and sending something, even as heavy as a chair, flying into the wall. “Mastered by the next evening.”

I was incredibly impressed, though I did not say so; I thought it best not to further inflate his already considerable ego.

“Would you like to practice more?” I asked him, righting the chair with a wave of my hand.

“Practice?” Loki was lounging on his couch and propped his head up.

“Yes. Out in Asgard.”

“Really?” He uncrossed his legs and sat up. “Is that allowed?”

“Allowed? Why would it not be?”

“Heimdall,” Loki breathed.

“Oh. Yes, well, I will cast a spell over us while we are out. He’ll not be able to see us. I want you to practice on things larger than a chair.” 

“Very well,” Loki acquiesced. He stood up, went to the door, and held it open for me. “Let us go, then.”

I quickly cast the spell that would shield us from Heimdall’s gaze as I exited his chambers and Loki followed close behind.

“Where shall we go, then?” Loki asked enthusiastically, walking next to me.

His long legs carried him further with each step and in his excited state he had to slow down so as to not leave me behind. I tried to keep up with him.

“How about to the edge?” I ventured. I had been curious about the edge ever since I had come here, where the sparkling waters of Asgard crashed over into an abyss of nothing. Besides, I thought it might be a good spot for practicing levitation.

“The edge!” he laughed. “Ah, I’ve not been there in years. I used to go there all the time with Thor. Father told us not to go anymore. As if we’d be so foolish to fall over the edge.”

“Oh,” I said warily. “Is it alright to go? If the king—”

But Loki interrupted me. “That was centuries ago when Thor and I were still little. We will be fine.” And then he smirked at me. “I’ll not let you fall off the edge.”

Suddenly, he reached out and linked his arm with mine. Startled, I went to pull away, but he held me close to him.

“Lo—Your Highness,” I protested, tugging once more, fruitlessly.

He bit back a laugh. “Oh, come now. You would not even touch me?”

“What if somebody sees us?” I asked worriedly.

He raised an eyebrow. “So? We’re only going to the stables.”

I bit my lip. I could not possibly say that I did not wish to be mistaken for his lover, but I did not wish physical contact, either. I felt myself growing flushed with discomfort, but he held on to me and I resolved to endure.

Loki took me to the stables, where from there we would ride to the edge. When Loki called for his horse to be brought, I whispered, somewhat worriedly, “What about one for me?”

Though I had not ridden often in Vanaheim, I was fairly capable. 

But Loki only chuckled, as if amused. “We will only take one horse.”

My lips parted in surprise. “What?”

Loki’s smile grew. “There is no need for us to take separate horses, Stjarna.” 

I bit my lip, then, not wishing to argue with him. As Loki’s horse was brought and prepared, I glanced around in apprehension. I noticed some of the stablehands standing by a wall looking at us. They were smirking and talking to one another. I quickly looked away, feeling his uneasiness sitting heavy in the pit of my stomach.

Once the horse was ready, Loki easily mounted it and then held his hand out for me to take.

I stared up at him for a long moment, reluctant to take his hand.

“What are you waiting for?” he asked impatiently.

I swallowed my nervousness and took his hand and he pulled me up behind him. I stifled a gasp when I nearly fell off and had to hurriedly wrap my arms around his waist.

Loki grabbed my hands with his and said, “Do not fall off yet, Stjarna.”

I huffed, not appreciating his humor, as he then urged the horse onwards.

As we rode, I tried not to sit too closely to Loki, or hold onto him too tightly, but it was of course quite difficult to do on a moving horse. Loki, however, did not seem discomfited in the least bit. 

Nearly an hour later, we were near the edge of Asgard, within the sparse forests that dotted the edge of the Realm Eternal. The clearing that Loki knew of was strewn with boulders of varying size that had come tumbling off higher cliffs.

As soon as we came to the clearing through a small grove of trees, I relaxed my hold on Loki and quickly slid off the back of the horse. Loki glanced at me in amusement before guiding the horse to a tree, dismounting, and tethering it to a branch. 

He turned to me, then. “What will you have me do now?”

I hastily sat on a rock and crossed my legs. “I suppose you can throw some things off the side.”

“Very well, then.”

Loki tried to of course start with the largest boulder in sight and promptly failed. Attempting to appear nonchalant, he moved onto some of the smaller ones. He succeeded in rolling them a few inches and I stifled a laugh.

He shot me a withering look. “Quiet, or I will throw you over the side.”

Loki practiced for another hour and I watched him. Contrary to what I had previously thought, Loki was a fast learner. Soon he was moving larger boulders with relative ease and it was obvious that he loved it. 

After a while, though, he found that he could not lift even a small boulder or fallen log. I explained to him that the larger the object, the more seidr would be required to lift it, but which would also tire him faster. Resting would help him recover. 

He was quiet while I spoke to him, listening to me attentively; I could tell that he did wish to learn as much seidr as possible, no matter how difficult he might be during lessons.

While he practiced—on smaller objects now—I stood up and walked over to a large tree which clung to the edge by its broad, penetrating roots. I stood on one of the roots and peered over the edge, holding myself up by a thick branch. The rocky outcropping I stood on curled underneath and I wondered what the underside of Asgard looked like.

I thought it absolutely amazing that this beautiful expanse of space was not only above us, but below us as well. I had never seen anything like it. In truth, I had asked Loki if we could come here to practice seidr on larger objects, but also so I could peer over the edge. I had been dreadfully curious ever since I had arrived to see the starry vastness of space below the Realm Eternal.

Asgard was so beautiful, I thought. Its skies were most unlike Vanaheim’s, which were striking in their own way, with deep blues, rich purples, and the contrasting, lush greens of the rolling valleys and blue mountains, and the two suns that seemed to chase each other across the sky. But here, in this great golden realm, where the backdrop was a vast blanket of stars, splashed with blooming sprays of distant galaxies, it was difficult to compare the two.

I stared as if in a trance, seeing and hearing nothing.

“Stjarna.”

I was jolted out my little reverie and looked over my shoulder. Loki was standing there, head cocked, a grin on his face. “What are you doing?”

“Admiring the view,” I replied quietly, turning back to look down.

“You look as if you are about to throw yourself off the edge,” he murmured. His voice sounded closer.

“That is ridiculous,” I responded softly, taking a deep breath. I wondered, briefly, what would happen if I did step off the edge? Would I die? It was a somewhat comforting thought.

I took a step back and right into Loki. He must have come up behind me. I nearly fell backwards, having tripped over his foot, but he easily caught me and attempted to prop me up. I quickly righted myself and turned to face him.

“What are you doing?” I snapped, trying to keep my voice steady.

Loki raised his eyebrows and his hands. “I told you I would not let you fall over the edge.”

I pressed my lips together.

He laughed at me and motioned to the area around him. “Is this satisfactory?”

He had picked off quite a few boulders and logs; already I could deem him proficient at levitation. So quickly, too, for not having been able to do it at all the first day.

“Yes, I think that is good for today,” I said, my voice tight. “Shall we return to the palace?”

Loki looked contemplative. “No. Let us stay for a bit longer.”

I had begun walking back towards the horse, but stopped. “Oh. Did you wish to practice more, Your Highness?”

“No, but you said after using so much seidr it is wise to rest?”

“I did say that.”

“Then let us rest.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Here?”

He did not respond to me, but instead sat down against the rock face of one of the cliffs and drew his knees up. He rested his elbows on his knees, arms sticking straight out, and looked at me. He patted the spot next to him. “Are you going to sit?”

Reluctantly, but obediently, I sat down next to him and leaned my back against the smooth rock. I peered up. “What if a rock falls on us?”

“Then I will save you,” he chuckled, flicking his wrist and sending one of the smaller rocks he had not moved flying off of the edge.

We sat there in silence for a long time—at least an hour. I must admit that I did enjoy the silence and being away from the palace.

I had always liked being on my own in Vanaheim. The atmosphere at the court there had been rather hostile for me, for in Vanaheim women of my standing were not viewed with such acceptance—if it could be called that—as they obviously were here in Asgard. My place as Valdrlund’s mistress could have been more easily overlooked had I not been a commoner when first brought to court. And so when not with Valdrlund, I had been on my own or playing the anxious part as one of Queen Akkerivif’s handmaidens.

I clenched my jaw when thinking on it. I had endured it all for near a century and all at Valdrlund’s behest. Soon my thoughts turned dark and I did not wish to sit here any longer in silence.

I looked over at Loki. His eyes were closed and his head was resting against the rock behind him. He looked very peaceful.

“Did Valdrlund wish to wed you?” Loki suddenly asked, breaking the silence. He slowly opened his eyes and turned his face to me. I hoped he had not noticed me staring at him.

The question caught me off guard. 

“What?”

“Did Prince Valdrlund wish to marry you?”

“Why?”

“I want to know,” he said simply.

“No, he did not want to wed me,” I retorted, somewhat harshly.

Loki’s brow furrowed; he completely ignored my tone and turned to face forward. “Then why were you exiled? Surely Valdrlund—”

“It was not Valdrlund who exiled me,” I said petulantly. Though Valdrlund had done nothing to stop it.

“Then King Aldregimildr?”

Aldregimildr was Valdrlund’s ailing father and current King of Vanaheim.

The very name sent a chill over me.

I pressed my lips together, glaring at him. Had he been thinking of this the whole time? My exile? Truly, he was impetuous and thoughtless.

My tone conveyed my irritation. “I’ve already said that I do not wish to speak of it.”

Loki turned his head again and merely looked at me.

I set my jaw and lowered my eyes. “Please, Lok—Your Highness. May we please return to the palace?”

“Yes,” he said after a moment of contemplation. In one fluid motion he rose and then extended his hand for me to take. I took it and his fingers closed around my hand. He gently helped me to my feet, but did not let me go when I went to step away. I protested as he pulled me to him and suddenly I was pressed against his front, my arms trapped against his chest. He brought his hands up and wrapped his fingers in the hair at my neck.

I was rigid, staring at him, startled at this unexpected turn of events.

“Loki,” I said nervously, not even realizing I had used his name by itself. “What are you—”

Before I had finished speaking, though, he had lowered his face and pressed his lips to mine.

A most distressing mix of shock, fear, and worry bloomed in my chest. And something akin to elation.

I closed my eyes and my lips parted, more in surprise than anything, against his own. I could feel his tongue, feel its wetness at my lips, but he did not probe for entrance. His slowly ran his thumb across my jaw, and his long fingers tightened in the hair at the nape of my neck.

I stood paralyzed, feeling a flush spread across my skin, feeling this thrill go through my body and straight down to my fingertips and toes.

And then, ever so slowly, Loki broke the kiss and pulled back. I languidly opened my eyes; his fingers were still knotted in my hair, still holding my face up so I could look nowhere else but up at him. He gazed down at me, lips parted and eyes fixed on mine.

I felt as if I could not breathe for his proximity to me and the way he had his fingers wrapped in my hair.

“You wished to return to the palace?” Loki whispered, raising his eyebrows. Suddenly, he released me and turned around, making his way towards his horse.

I stared at his back, astounded. I had never met one like him, with his sudden mood changes, his countenance, and his shamelessness.

And what was that, that I had vowed, when I found out I was meant by the queen to become Loki’s mistress? That he would not touch me? And now…

Loki repelled me, but at the same time, I found myself drawn to him, despite the warning in my heart and the ball of dread in my stomach.

I let out a shuddering breath and shakily followed him, my lips still tingling. Loki untied his horse, mounted it and then helped me up, and we rode back to the palace in this disconcerting silence.

Gods, what had Queen Frigga gotten me into?

__

Loki mercifully made no mention of his kiss during our next lesson and neither did I.

In truth, I knew not what to expect, but he acted quite normally, I thought; joking of inappropriate things, which I found somewhat refreshing, and generally causing trouble for me. Thankfully he did not pester me about my past in Vanaheim. Overall, he was kind to me and tried to make me laugh, for he made a comment on how I did not smile, which was true enough.

Things continued in this congenial manner for a few months and I grew used to Loki’s antics. I began to relax around him, which he noticed with pleasure, though I could never be sure what was to come. One could never be sure with Loki.

Sometimes I would come to his chambers and he would be half-naked, lounging on his table. The first time he had done this I was scandalized and he thought it hilarious when I asked him to put a shirt on. I had spent the rest of the lesson trying to not look at his skin, which was white as bone, for he had politely declined the shirt.

Once, I came to his chambers and found that he had changed his form. To me. I requested that he take on his regular form, but he refused and so I taught a copy of myself how best to change the pressure of the atmosphere around you.

Another time, he told me he did not wish to learn anything new and instead challenged me to a game of seidr. Whoever could make the most copies of themselves, called shades, would win. I had not wished to participate, but he had threatened to conduct our next lesson in the nude. I believed him and so I grudgingly took part in his game, which I handily won.

Loki was, at times, a frustrating pupil, but I came to enjoy his company. I found that he could cheer me, for I still often fell into bouts of depression. Sometimes I could not keep myself from thinking back to Vanaheim and those days before I came to Asgard.

But ours was a good pairing, as I did not overreact when Loki was sharp with me, as many tended to do, and I did not take offense at his tricks, though some of them could be quite distasteful. I enjoyed hearing him talk about the pranks he played on his brother and his friends, and how he had performed well in the training yard and managed to hold out longer than usual against Thor, before inevitably being bested.

Our relationship was most affable and it seemed the kiss was forgotten. And so our lessons became something that I cheerfully anticipated.


	5. Part I - Chapter 5

Stjarnavetr

I stopped before Loki’s door, my hand poised to knock. During our fifth lesson, just over six months ago, Loki had snapped at me to stop knocking and just to come in during the mornings. He could not be bothered to walk across his chambers to admit me every time. I had liked that, not having to knock. I felt that it put us more on the same level.

But sometimes I still had a difficult time just opening his door. I had always needed to knock when going to see Valdrlund. He had yelled at me the few times I had been impudent enough to enter without announcing myself.

But Loki was not Valdrlund and though I knew Loki would be irritated with me, I went ahead and knocked.

Immediately, I heard a faint curse from within. I paused to listen, but did not hear anything else.

It was a couple of minutes later when the door finally opened and I was not staring at Loki, but one of Queen Frigga’s other handmaidens. Her name was Elskagnótt, if I remembered correctly. She stared at me for a moment, a small smile playing on the edge of her lips, before she went to pass me.

“Pardon me, Stjarnavetr,” she said kindly. She was quite disheveled; the laces up the back of her dress were still nearly hanging open and her hair was in disarray. It was apparent she had meant to leave in a hurry, probably urged by my arrival.

I stared at her retreating form, unsure as to the feeling in the pit of my stomach, until she turned the corner at the end of the corridor. I turned and peered into the open doorway and then took a hesitant step in, my eyes searching for Loki.

“Lo—Your Highness?” I asked hesitantly.

I could not believe I had just seen Elskagnótt emerge from Loki’s chambers. Or rather, I could believe it—I suppose it was just that I had not been expecting it. I knew how many women he went through and I had simply been startled—and somewhat amazed that I had gone six months without yet seeing the evidence of his infamous lechery. 

Suddenly I heard Loki’s voice from within his bedchamber. 

“Give me a moment, will you?” he called.

I was silent. I sat down at his table and absently traced my finger over the intricate patterns of the wood. I suddenly felt a little embarrassed and uncomfortable being here.

I thought back to Vanaheim and remembered how sometimes Valdrlund would call upon another woman to spend the night with instead of me. Despite this, though, he had always come back to me. There were always others, but none as high in his affections as me. I laughed harshly to myself, then, thinking of it. Affections. Is that what that had been?

“Is something funny?” I heard Loki shout.

“No,” I said quickly.

I allowed my thoughts to drift back to Loki. It was none of my business the women he kept at night. He was only mine for a few hours three times a week. What he did in the hours before or after I arrived was none of my concern. And yet, it was difficult for me to not imagine him and Elskagnótt together.

A few minutes later, Loki emerged from his bedchamber freshly bathed. His hair was still damp and he was barefoot and only dressed in a pair of black pants and a dark green tunic unlaced at the throat.

“I thought I told you not to knock anymore,” he said.

I stared at him, lips parted in astonishment. “You had one of the queen’s women in here—”

“Yes, but you did not know that,” he retorted, cutting me off.

“You would have me walk in on your trysts?”

“It would not be the first time that I have been interrupted.”

I only stared at him, astounded at his nonchalance. He took the seat across from me.

“I’ve not had much sleep, Stjarna, so you must forgive me if I drift off,” he told me. He did not say it with a smile or a wink—just stating a fact.

“Did Elskagnótt keep you awake?” I asked suddenly. He looked at me, then, and I immediately regretted my impertinence.

“Was that her name?” he responded mildly, taking no note of my audacity.

I pressed my lips together.

“Yes. Well, erm, let us begin then,” I said, looking down.

Loki looked very disinterested as I spoke. He kept looking all around, though sometimes I noticed him staring intensely at me for long intervals. I had a feeling he was not listening to what I was saying, however. He looked as if he were thinking—and not about seidr.

Finally, about half an hour later, I said, “Am I boring you, Lok—Your Highness?”

He took a deep, dramatic breath, blinked, and looked away. “Yes.”

Silence.

“I am—I apologize, then, but—”

“Would you walk with me?” he asked suddenly.

“Pardon me, Your Highness?”

“I am bored,” he remarked dryly.

I was slightly offended. “I am trying my best—”

“Do you want to walk?” he repeated, cutting me off.

“Walk?”

“Yes,” he said, irritation in his voice. “Walk.”

“Where?”

He shrugged. “Around.”

These past few months, Loki had begun asking me to walk with him. He would take my arm and together we would walk through the palace, out on the grounds and in the gardens. Anywhere, really. At first I had been hesitant to go with him, but once I had gotten more used to him, I gladly accepted his offers. Despite how exasperating he could be, I did enjoy his company and he seemed to enjoy mine, much to my pleasure.

But I was not too interested in walking today.

“With what we’re discussing today, we’ve no need to go—”

“Not for seidr,” he snapped. “I want to stretch. I can hardly move. Let us walk around the palace.”

He stood up and went over to one of the chairs in front of his fireplace. He had one of his leather surcoats thrown over the back and as he picked it up, I protested.

“Your Highness—”

“And enough of that,” he said sharply, tugging the surcoat on. “You may call me by my name in private. You’ve slipped up often enough.”

“Loki,” I persisted, feeling a little thrill, “the queen expects me to teach you seidr and—”

“I doubt that skipping one lesson will throw off the next few decades of lessons too badly,” he responded crossly.

I stopped talking. I had learned that there was no convincing him. Best to just go along with it.

Once Loki was properly dressed, he came up to me and extended his arm. I took it without hesitation and he smirked at me, much to my annoyance.

I was not as ill at ease around Loki as I had been months ago. I had become less and less stiff around him; he had expressed his delight at this more than once, when I did not flinch when he touched me, or when I did not try to pull away when he found some reason to embrace me, which was usually when he played a prank on me, which had happened at least a dozen times now. He was surprised at how quickly I grew used to his antics, and had become nearly unaffected by them.

I kept my eyes forward as we walked. Though I did not mind Loki touching me as much as I once had, I still felt very self-conscious when we went anywhere together outside of his room.

Servants bowed to us as they walked by and we received curious glances from the dignitaries we saw in the corridors. Loki loved it. He was smiling the entire time, a far cry from his previously sour mood. My own expression was one of exasperated annoyance.

After a while, Loki said, “Why do you look so?”

“Why are we doing this?” I asked waspishly. He had dragged me out of his room for no reason, other than feeling sore from the previous night’s romp, and had been quite terse with me earlier. Also for no reason.

Loki laughed at my tone. “So impudent,” he mused with a smile, still not answering my question.

Loki liked it when I was bold with him. I had grown more and more accustomed to his grating personality these past months and any time he was sharp with me, I was sharp right back. He said I had lost my timidity, and expressed his pleasure at how I was no longer so submitting; he liked how audacious I could sometimes become with him. But I had never really pushed it too far. I did not know what would make Loki truly angry and I was not too eager to find out, as I had heard of his temper.

We had been walking around the palace and its grounds—just walking, seemingly with no destination, in complete silence—for about an hour when Loki said at last, “Tell me about Vanaheim.”

My gut tightened.

“Why?”

“Because I asked.”

“What do you want to know?” I ventured tentatively.

Let him not pry about Valdrlund.

“What did you do there? Other than warm Valdrlund’s bed?”

I cringed at his words. “What do you mean?”

“You were a handmaiden to the queen there, yes?”

“Queen Akkerivif.”

“Did you like it there?”

“I suppose. It was my home.”

“Do you miss it?” he asked. We had not looked at each other at all during our exchange. I liked it that way. I did not want to look at him while I spoke of Vanaheim. I felt sick even thinking of it. But he was the prince, and inquiring of me.

“Some… aspects.”

“Like what?”

“My father.”

“What do you not miss?”

I was a long time in replying—so long that he glanced over at me as we walked. He pulled me a little closer and I stiffened. I was incredibly conscious of the fact that just hours ago he had been in bed with Elskagnótt, kissing her and moving inside her.

“Stjarna?” he repeated, when I still did not reply.

“Many things,” I whispered.

“Such as?”

“I do not wish to talk of this,” I answered, more sharply than I had intended.

He made no response to my remark. 

We did not speak for a long while after that.

Loki eventually steered us outside the palace and I felt dread in the pit of my stomach when I realized he was leading us towards the training yard, where the Einherjar, the Allfather’s elite guard, trained daily.

Einherjar milled about in their finery, as well as some of the other gods I had gotten brief glimpses of in my short time here, such as Frey, a Van like me, off to the side sharpening his sword, and Týr, who only possessed one hand, and Baldr. I knew for a fact, just from overhearing the conversations of the other handmaidens, that Týr and Baldr’s mistresses were among Queen Frigga’s retinue. Though the handmaidens were supposedly sworn to virtue, the queen seemed not to care if they took men to their beds, as long as they did not take her youngest son. But that did not stop Loki from seeking them out and wearing them down until they gleefully submitted to his advances.

It seemed to be different for Thor, oddly enough. It was as if Queen Frigga did not care if her eldest son bedded her women. I had been told that when Thor had a mistress, he kept her for about five to ten years. Then he would grow bored, and not have one for a long time; and so the cycle continued. At the moment, he was in a dry spell. Gullhár had told me that his previous mistress had been dismissed from the queen’s retinue perhaps a year before I came to Asgard. Her name had been Áraedibrýnn, and she had been Thor’s mistress for about seven years before she was suddenly dismissed. Loki’s taking of her, once, had been the cause of her dismissal. Gullhár told me that Thor had confronted Loki after Áraedibrýnn’s removal and the brothers had fought. But all seemed well enough, now, as Thor did not hold grudges long.

“What are we doing?” I demanded quietly, glancing around. I saw Týr and Baldr look at us as we passed.

“Visiting,” he said calmly.

My voice was edged with alarm. “Visiting? Who?”

Then I spotted Thor, who was off to the side of the yard, speaking with a small group of Einherjar. I saw one of the Einherjar indicate to Thor that his brother was approaching.

Thor turned and grinned. “Brother!”

Loki released my arm and the two embraced briefly.

“I thought you had your Vanir lessons this morning,” Thor stated.

Loki shrugged.

I bowed to Thor. “Your Highness.”

Thor smiled at me and then his eyes flickered to Loki’s. “Is this your new little pet?”

I straightened up, not liking that. New little pet?

“Vanir tutor,” Loki replied tactfully.

Thor rolled his eyes, but smiled widely. “Right. You know, I know not why Mother’s bothered with that Vanir nonsense. I’ve had no Vanir tutor.” Thor glanced at me, and then elbowed Loki in the side, who looked irritated at the gesture. “Maybe I should ask for one, eh? They all come as pretty as this one?” Thor turned his eyes on me. “What are you called, Lady Vana? Loki’s never even told me your name, though he talks about you often enough.”

Loki scowled.

“Stjarnavetr, Your Highness,” I replied, glancing at Loki.

Before Thor could say anything else, though, Loki said quickly with a smirk, “Why don’t you woo the goddess Freyja? I’m sure she would be more than willing to teach you the ways of the Vanir, brother.”

Thor looked vaguely disgusted. “No, I’d not have Freyja. She repulses me.”

“Careful, princelings,” warned a voice. Thor, Loki, and I turned and saw Frey, Freyja’s brother, casually walking past, swinging his sword in his hand. He must have overheard Thor, for Thor had not been speaking quietly by any means. It was known to all, but not spoken of, that Frey regularly lay with his twin sister; he would, understandably, be upset if he overheard the two princes talking about her so rudely.

Both Thor and Loki choked back laughter after Frey had passed. I looked at them disapprovingly for their vulgarity.

“You’ve fucked her before, haven’t you, brother?” Thor asked Loki, then.

Loki stiffened slightly. “That was a long time ago.”

Thor snorted. “Hardly. Less than a year ago, wasn’t it? Was she any good?”

Loki shrugged. “I’ve had better.” And then, meaning to provoke Thor, he continued, “Nonetheless, you should try her, brother. You’ve been without a stable woman long enough. Áraedibrýnn’s been gone for, what, nearly a year now? When’s the last time you had a good fuck?”

My lips parted in surprise.

Of course, I had heard Loki speak like this before. I knew how crude he could be, but I had never heard him, or Thor, for that matter, speak so vulgarly about another god or goddess, especially one as highly esteemed as Freyja, however loose she may have been.

I saw Thor press his lips together in annoyance. He ignored Loki’s remark, however, and said, with an air of finality, “Freyja repels me. She is deceitful and I would not have her if she were the last Vana in Asgard.” Then he laughed. “But she is not the only one, now, is she? Now we’ve got this little one.”

Loki glowered, upset that he had not baited Thor.

Thor turned to me and grinned. “Are you keeping my little brother busy, then, Lady Vana?”

I went to retort, for I very well knew what Thor meant, but Loki cut me off with a loud laugh. He motioned to some of the Einherjar standing off to the side, waiting for Prince Thor to finish with his brother.

“I think we’ve kept you long enough, brother. You’d best get back to training. We’ll be off.”

Instead of taking my arm, Loki wrapped his arm around my waist and settled his hand on the curve of my hip. He pulled me tight to him and even though I was burning with embarrassment, I dared not pull away from him in front of everybody.

Thor watched us leave, as did half the yard, and I desperately hoped that they could not see my face surely flushed with mortification. 

Once we were out of the training yard, and nearly to the palace, Loki’s grip on me relaxed and I pulled away, letting out a harried little breath. I stopped walking and Loki turned to face me.

“What are you doing?”

But I ignored his question and demanded crossly, “What was that for?”

“What was what for?”

“You know what I mean, Loki.”

Loki smiled thinly. “I was making clear to Thor, and the others, that they’re not to touch you.” He looked me straight in the eyes as he said it. There was no shame there.

“What?”

“Do you think I’m the only one who enjoys a good fuck?” he said nonchalantly, giving me an impenitent half-smile. “Just give it time. Thor will want you eventually.”

My mouth dropped open, but I quickly collected myself. “I’ve never even spoken to Prince Thor. How could he possibly take an interest in me—”

“He’s bound to notice you one day. And not just Thor. The others, as well. And you’d be surprised, Stjarna. The men of Asgard are ruthless.” He smirked.

“So you mean to prevent his interest, their interest, by showing him that I’m yours?” I ventured, fearing his response.

“More or less,” he said smugly.

My voice was indignant. “But I’m not… yours!”

“Well, whether you are or not, now he knows not to touch.” He grinned at me, but I was fuming. He could see that and it entertained him. It made me angry—angry that he should feel entitled enough to show me around as if I were one of his whores and that he should be so arrogant as to claim me as his, despite our lack of actually ever sleeping together. Now I knew what he had been doing when he had invited me out to walk with him all these months. Showing everybody who would see that the Vana was his and his alone.

“How dare—”

“Yes, how dare me,” he snickered.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself.

I lowered my voice. “Have you taken Elskagnótt on a tour of the palace, as well? Showed her off to Thor and the others? Marked her as yours?”

Loki’s smile disappeared.

It seemed a wise time to stop talking, but I could not. I felt only the anger rising in me, suppressing everything else, including the warning I felt. It mattered not that I was speaking to the prince of Asgard.

“I can understand why you’ve not taken her around yet,” I continued bitterly. “It must be difficult to find the time for them all, when you’ve got so many whores lined up—”

“Enough!” he suddenly snarled, baring his teeth.

I recoiled from him, my blood turned to ice.

“You’d best learn when to hold your tongue, Vana,” Loki growled, taking a huge step towards me, his face livid. He seemed to tower over me. “I am the prince of Asgard and will not be spoken to with such impudence, especially by one such as the likes of you.”

He glowered at me for a long, awful moment, the color rising in his pale cheeks. So sudden and threatening had been the change in his previously carefree demeanor. I only stared at him, eyes wide, unable to reply for the dread I felt.

Suddenly, he turned on his heel and stalked away. “You are dismissed for the day,” he shouted without looking back at me.

I stood there, stunned, unsure of what to do. I felt fury and embarrassment, but was somewhat comforted by the fact that there had been nobody around to see him reprimand me.

Finally, after collecting myself, I made my way wretchedly to the queen’s chambers, where I found the other handmaidens settled in their usual spots.

I spied Elskagnótt upon entering. She was now immaculate and looked at me only briefly when I entered. I would have bowed to the queen if she had been here, but for some reason she was not.

I settled myself with Gullhár, Maerrhár, and Málvit. I had grown attached to these three handmaidens in particular over these past months and they had invited me into their circle fairly easily.

“You’re here early,” Maerrhár observed.

I was always late to Queen Frigga’s chambers on the mornings when I tutored Loki. I wondered if the others assumed that was when we coupled, for they all knew where I was. I kept telling them I was teaching Loki about the Vanir, of our history and our ways, but they did not believe me. So I was happy, at least, that being a mistress here (even though I was not), was not as frowned upon as it had been in Vanaheim. I had thought that so odd when I had first come to Asgard. The Vanir tended to be more laidback than the Aesir, but not when it came to sex, I supposed.

“Yes, Lo—the prince—cut the lesson short. He had other duties to attend to.”

I was mostly quiet for the rest of the day, reflecting on Loki’s actions. Oh, gods, how he confused me. I was not sure what to think of his parading me around in front of the other gods, holding me close to him, showing them that I was “his.” I grimaced just thinking about it. I had only been his tutor for six months and despite that kiss during our third lesson, which had never again been spoken of, he had not since indicated any attraction to me, any hint that I was “his.” I did not understand. But there were many things I still did not understand about Loki. I doubt I would ever understand everything about him.

I thought of Elskagnótt, then, and what I had felt when she had brushed past me this morning. Had that been the stirrings of jealousy, knowing that just hours before he had been buried in her, probably panting her name—no, no, he had not known it—into her skin?

And what I had been talking about, with whores earlier, when snapping at Loki? For what had I essentially been in Vanaheim but a glorified whore?

I tormented myself with these useless, venomous thoughts, which inevitably drifted to Vanaheim and Valdrlund.


	6. Part I - Chapter 6

Stjarnavetr

Two days later, I gloomily made my way to Loki’s chambers for our seidr lesson. I was incredibly nervous, not knowing what to expect; I knew not if he was still upset with me or if these past days apart had cooled his anger. Hopefully the latter.

But Loki was not there, as he always was, waiting for me. I found his door open, and a servant girl inside. She was slowly moving through his chambers, singing to herself and picking his discarded clothes up off the floor and straightening. She acknowledged me when I entered.

“Do you know where the prince is?” I inquired.

“His Highness has gone hunting with Prince Thor,” the servant said, using my entering as an opportunity to take a small break from her work.

“Do you happen to know when he will return?”

The girl cocked her head, thinking. “He should be back later this afternoon, I believe. That is when Prince Thor’s hunting parties usually return, anyway. Sometimes they stay out until nightfall.”

I thanked her and then turned to leave, feeling ill.

I felt a foreboding, for I knew that Loki did not enjoy hunting; he found it an unnecessarily strenuous activity. He had told me multiple times that he disliked it when he complained to me about how Thor always complained to him about how he never joined the hunting parties.

Apparently, though, something had spurred Loki to join Thor this morning. I figured this had been a rather impromptu outing and I could not keep myself from thinking, miserably, that I had been the cause.

Despite his glaring personality faults, I did like Loki and did not want him to be upset with me. The fact was I should not have spoken to him like that, of the women he took. It was wildly out of place and not to mention inappropriate, no matter how angry he had made me. He was the prince and I just a lowly handmaiden; I was lucky he had not dismissed me from his or Queen Frigga’s services then and there.

Prince Thor’s hunting party did not return to the palace for a long time and I gave up hope of being able to see Loki. I spent the rest of the day in uneasy reflection and back in my own chambers that night sat out on my little private balcony staring out over Asgard. When I at last grew exhausted worrying about whether Loki was upset with me, I focused on the city below the palace and surrounding areas. Once I had scoured the darkened terrain and seemingly run out of things to look at, my thoughts wandered to Vanaheim and its lush, verdant landscapes. That is one thing I certainly did miss about my old home.

Suddenly, I was jolted out of my unhappy thoughts when there came a knocking on my door. I dragged myself out of the chair on my balcony and went back into my rooms and slowly opened the door.

Much to my surprise, Loki stood there.

I wrinkled my nose. He reeked of blood.

“Are you alright?” I said worriedly, quickly scanning his person in the dark. I saw that the front of his surcoat was stained with blood. He had only just arrived back to the palace, then; he had not bothered to clean up before coming to see me. Obviously, the hunt had been a successful one.

“It is not mine,” he dismissed, motioning at the blood on his outfit.

“How did you find my chambers?” I asked suspiciously. My door was one among a dozen in this corridor, all where the queen’s handmaidens slept. I was sure Loki had been in a few of them.

“It was not that difficult to inquire after a servant,” he retorted. And then, “May I enter?”

After a moment of hesitation, I stepped backwards and he brushed past me.

The smell of blood was so strong that I could taste it in my mouth.

I shut the door, almost meticulously, and tried to gather my thoughts. Taking a shaky breath, I turned around to beg his forgiveness for my impudence a few days ago, for I assumed he was here to reprimand me again.

Upon turning, however, I found Loki standing only inches from me; I shrank back, startled. 

“Loki—”

But my words were cut short when he grabbed my face and kissed me hard, pushing me back against the door and pressing his body against mine; he opened my mouth with his tongue and pushed past my teeth.

My stomach leapt and for a split, unthinking moment, I went to respond—to bring my hands up to his face, to push my body against his, but I did not. Panic overwhelmed this brief flare of desire and I put my hands on his chest and pushed. He broke the kiss reluctantly, but still held onto me.

“What are you doing?” I gasped, my hands still on his chest.

“Kissing you,” he breathed.

“Loki,” I murmured apprehensively, staring at him. I could taste him, along with the stale tang of iron. I curled my fingers against his chest and felt the lifeblood of whatever animal he had slaughtered today crusted on the leather and metal.

Suddenly I realized I was clad in nothing but my nightgown, nothing but a thin scrap of fabric, and he was pressing against me. My heartbeat quickened and he grinned at me.

“What are you doing?” I repeated guardedly, trying to keep my voice steady.

He did not respond, but instead glanced over towards my fireplace. Before I could protest, he let go of my face and took me by the hand. I initially resisted, but he was much stronger than me and he pulled me towards one of the chairs sitting there.

“What are you doing?” I asked nervously, for the third time. But once again, he did not reply. He only smirked at me.

Feeling as if it would do no good, I stopped resisting. Let whatever this was, let us get it over with. He had done things like this before, for he enjoyed making me uncomfortable. It amused him.

“Sit, Stjarna,” he said, gently pushing my unyielding body into the chair. I thought he was going to sit in the chair across from me, but much to my surprise, he dropped to his knees in front of me. I stiffened and my breath caught in my throat when he put his forearms on the tops of my thighs and settled his hands on either side of my hips. Frantic little jolts coursed through my body at his touch, all of which unnervingly settled between my legs.

I pressed myself against the back of the chair, my heart pounding in my chest. I was not entirely sure what to do, for never had I thought I might find myself in such a situation. At most I thought Loki would have sat down with me and mentioned our argument a few days ago and reminded me of my place as only a handmaiden to the queen. This was a most startling turn of events.

“I have been thinking these past few days,” Loki explained, seemingly completely unaware of my state, “and I realized our last meeting did not end well. I should not have… spoken to you like that afterwards.”

I noticed he did not specifically apologize for showing me off to the others, to mark me as his and warn Thor and his friends off of me, but I was not so fixated on that now. I was more focused on his intimate proximity and the feel of his hands on my hips through my dress. I tightened my grip on the armrests, needing to hold onto something. Why did I not push him away?

“It is only that I had never been spoken to like that by…”

“An underling?” I murmured rather faintly.

He pressed his lips together. He did not wish to agree, but my inferior status was clearly what he had meant.

“What do you want, Loki?” I questioned nervously, slightly squeezing my legs together to form more of a barrier between us. He was too close, and yet my knees pressing against his stomach did nothing to lessen my anxiety, for with each passing second, I could feel this traitorous heat between my thighs building.

“I have come to ask you something… something of a most delicate nature.” His pale green eyes, nearly translucent in the firelight, bored into mine.

I felt my stomach tighten with worry.

“I have come to ask if you would consent to becoming my mistress.” He said it so plainly, as if he were commenting on the weather and not asking me to habitually spread my legs for him.

I raised my eyebrows and my lips parted in surprise; I was silent for a long time and we merely stared at one another.

Finally, I found my voice, still only a whisper: “You came to formally inquire of me if I would become your mistress?”

“Yes.”

I stared at him for another long moment; I knew not what to say, nor what to think or do.

I managed, almost inaudibly, “Why?”

He squinted at me in the dim light of the room.

He said quickly, “I cannot get it out of my mind, Stjarna, this… delicious possibility.”

I felt a little thrill when he referred to me as a delicious possibility, but also dread.

“It’s all I’ve been thinking of these past few days. These weeks, these months. I could not decide, but then could not see why…” he was no longer looking into my eyes, but at my lips. He bit his lower lip and seemed to be internally discussing something with himself. He looked back up to me after a moment and said in a low voice, “You intrigue me, Stjarna, and I want to feel you. I want to taste you.”

My mouth fell open and I saw a flicker of triumph in his expression, but his lurid comments did not incite in me a feeling of lust, which was his aim, but frustration.

Why after all this time was Loki admitting this to me? It was true that he was a rather physical person, always finding some reason to touch or embrace me, pushing the limits of what I would tolerate. But he did that with many of the other women, I had seen, and so I had dismissed it. I simply could not believe that he had been thinking of this, making me his mistress, for months. He was clearly exceptionally talented at concealing his desires, as I had had no indication whatsoever of his feelings.

And yet I was a fool for not seeing. I was a prize to be had—to be won—since I had not gotten the hint these past months and fallen into his bed as so many others tended to do. He could not let it go until he had had me; this asking of me, this groveling before me, was simply a means to an end. I was no stranger to the ways of men.

“What if I said yes?” I whispered, and I could see the barest hint of surprise on his face. “What if I consented? How long would you keep me before you grew bored?”

Loki merely stared at me. I am sure he had not expected that sort of answer, but I could tell he did not know how to respond.

Finally, realizing he was not going to answer me and wanting him to leave, I followed the warning in my heart and said the only other thing I could think of to say: “I do not want you.”

I saw his expression change, just a fleeting visage of surprise, but then he smiled and bit his bottom lip again, seemingly unfazed. He lowered his eyes and gave a little chuckle.

“Do you not? You say this, Stjarna, and yet…” he brushed the tips of his fingers lightly across my breast, causing a shiver to run through my body and my breath to hitch, “…your body betrays you.”

Through the thin fabric of my nightgown, I could feel my nipple harden under his gentle touch, feel this warmth spread through me. And then suddenly he moved; he dug his fingers into my hips and dragged me forward until my legs were spread against his flat stomach and he was leaning onto me, effectively pinning me against the chair. I went rigid beneath him and dug my fingernails painfully into the wood of the chair. Loki gazed at me from under his eyebrows, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“Loki,” I nearly whimpered, watching with a faint sense of horror as he slowly lowered his head and took my nipple in his mouth through my nightgown, wetting the nearly diaphanous fabric with his tongue. He bit down on me and I breathed in sharply, slightly arching my back in the chair and lifting my face up towards the ceiling. I raised my arms and wrapped my hands in his soft black hair without even thinking, both my annoyance and resolve melting under his touch.

I did not know why or how, but he was exciting me and I hated it, but gods, I could not stop him. I should have ended it now, I should have pushed him away and told him to leave, for no matter how aroused I might have been, no matter how I might have ached for him, I could not lie with him. But this feeling, this delicious heat building like a slow, treacherous fire inside of me—something I had not felt in so long—prevented me from uttering the words.

Loki pushed himself forward and I let out a little breath for the sudden movement. He released me and I languidly opened my eyes and looked down. Loki’s face was only inches from mine, as I was now sunk halfway down into the chair. I stared into his eyes as he reached up, took my chin between his fingers, and closed his eyes and leaned forward onto me to kiss me.

Immediately, there was a flare of heat in my lower belly and I could feel the fleeting wetness of his tongue between my lips before I opened my mouth and he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. I could smell blood on his breath—he must have gotten blood in his mouth during the hunt somehow—and taste it filling my mouth. But it was not such a bad taste when he was kissing me; though I did not push back, though I did not entirely respond to him as my body wanted to, I savored the metallic flavor on his warm tongue as he rolled it against mine.

I could not help but to let out a little moan into his mouth and it seemed to encourage him. I felt his lips smile against mine and he deepened the kiss even more, leaning forward to press my head against the back of the chair. 

After a long moment, Loki finally drew back, pulling my face forward as he curled his tongue behind my front teeth. He broke the kiss, leaving me breathless, and with a smirk lowered his head to nestle his face into the side of my neck. I took a deep breath and let my eyes flutter closed, tightening my fingers in his hair and relishing the delicious heat simmering in my lower half. It felt as if my heart was there between my thighs, beating for release.

“Have you not thought of it?” Loki whispered licentiously, his voice low with desire. He bared his teeth and grazed my throat before nipping at the spot where my neck and shoulder met. He moved his head lower now.

“Thought of what?” I barely managed as I felt his mouth on the erect peak of my other breast. Involuntarily, I squeezed my thighs on his hard torso, my breaths coming erratically now.

“Of us,” he murmured, turning his head to press his cheek against my breast. I slowly opened my eyes and followed his gaze to my bed. His eyes flickered up to mine and he smiled salaciously. “Do not tell me you’ve not imagined it…”

Unfortunately, I had before thought of us intimately, though I would never dare tell him that. I had not let my imagination run too far, for it was impossible to even seriously consider. I would not allow myself to lie with another, not after what had happened to me in Vanaheim. But as Loki worked on me, running his tongue over my heated skin, pressing against my most intimate parts and stirring in me this dormant lust, I could not for the life of me push him away. Despite the apprehension I felt, for Valdrlund had made me feel like this, though only occasionally, I did love the feeling of his warm skin brushing against mine. I liked the little tingles that raced across my body and seemed to settle in a warm thrum between my legs. It felt as if there could be nothing more intimate than this.

“Have you imagined my mouth here, Stjarna?” he mumbled, lowering his face to resume his lavishing of affection on my nipple through my nightgown. I let out a little moan and rolled my head to the side, arching into his touch. I heard him chuckle, which only inflamed me more. 

“What about my body here?” he continued, pushing forward into me harder, pressing against the spot between my open legs. The heat there flared with the sudden pressure and I whimpered and almost moved to wrap my legs around him. 

“Or my fingers here?” Loki moved his hand from my hip to my ankle. He slipped his hand under my nightgown and ran it up my calf and over my knee, sending cold tingles racing across my skin. He leaned back a little and his fingers danced along the inside of my exposed thigh until he was mere inches away from my sex; I felt his nails teasingly scrape the soft, heated flesh. 

But suddenly, it was not desire I felt. Panic surged through me and my insides were gripped by a cold, nauseating fear. My eyes flew open, the dread rising like bile in my throat, and I bolted upright and pushed him off of me.

“Stop,” I nearly cried, putting my hands on his shoulders.

He immediately looked up at me, hearing the panic in my voice. He said, more confused than anything, “Stop?”

I doubt he had ever heard that word uttered as he worked on a quivering servant or a shuddering handmaiden with his tongue.

“Stop,” I repeated, pushing him again. He leaned backwards, pulling his hand out from under my nightgown, and sat there on his haunches. He was still so close—too close. 

And then his eyes slowly traveled down my body and settled on the spot between my still spread legs.

I looked down.

The delicate fabric of my nightgown was plastered to my sex, held there by my sopping desire. I frantically tugged at the material, painfully conscious of Loki’s stare, painfully aware that he knew he had done this to me. I hastily closed my legs and adjusted my nightgown, my heart pounding and skin burning. I could not believe that I had let him get this far and yet not far enough.

Without lifting his head, Loki’s eyes flickered up to mine. He looked at me from under his brows; his smile was lascivious.

The fire in the pit of my stomach sparked.

Before he could do anything, though, and before I could allow it, I hastily rose out of the chair, feeling with irritation the traitorous slickness between my legs. I brushed past him, needing to get out of this room and away from the lingering scent of blood that he had brought with him, away from my own heady scent hanging tellingly in the air.

I stood outside on my balcony now and took a deep breath, gripping the rail. I felt too hot and relished the feeling of the blessed cool on my flushed skin.

After a moment, I felt Loki behind me, watching me.

“Stjarna?” he ventured. His voice was low.

I closed my eyes, as if tired. After a long moment, I turned around slowly, crossing my arms over my chest.

“I would not do what you ask of me,” I said quietly, before he could say anything. “I will not do it.”

It was easier to say it out here when he was not lying on me and nibbling on my breasts, when my entire body was not burning for his weight on me and his heat in me.

“May I ask why?” His voice was tight. I doubt he had ever been denied this. Loki was a prince. He was not told “no.” He took what he wanted, when he wanted. I was conscious of the fact that he was taller, larger, and more bent on this than me. But surely he would not take me against my will, not like... no, no… I swallowed my dread. This was not Vanaheim and Loki was not Valdrlund. Though the look in his eyes was enough to make me take a step back.

With the sweet warmth he had left on my skin dissipating in the cool air, I hardened my voice and my words. “You would have me at your beck and call. You would have me wait for you every night, have me open my legs any time you demanded—”

“Demanded?”

“—and any time you felt the need to sate your lusts, would you not? Would you reduce me so low, Loki?”

“Reduce you? You think that sharing my bed would reduce you?” His tone was sharp; he was trying to hold back.

My resolution was firm, but my voice was no longer. “Yes, and I would not be lowered to that again.”

“Lowered?” he repeated, hardly bothering to disguise his infuriation now. His eyes narrowed and I saw him tense his jaw.

“I know what being a mistress entails, Prince,” I said coldly.

“Perhaps in Vanaheim you do,” he snapped, “but not here.”

I wanted to make some sort of petulant remark, but could not think of what to say. It seemed that Loki was, in his own way, assuring me that he would not treat me as Valdrlund had. Surely he knew, or at least had heard whispers brought over by talkative diplomats, how the prince of Vanaheim cared for his mistress.

Valdrlund had been good to me, more often than not, and especially in those first few years when I had been brought to him; he had been the doting lover, lavishing praise on me, affirming his adoration and his devotion. But as time wore on and our somewhat merry rapport gave way to dissension, Valdrlund changed. I would no longer wake next to him with skin flushed from the previous night’s exertions, but with bruises and throbbing muscles, the echoes of his screams still ringing in my ears, my body bearing the evidence of his rage. And then hearing his honeyed words, whispered with such love, as he ran his fingers over my body, using his seidr to heal what he had done to me, “Why must you make me angry, Stjarnavetr? I don’t like hurting you… let’s try harder, my love…”

Valdrlund was all I had ever known. How could Loki be any different?

I shook my head, and my voice was softer now. Pleading.

“Please do not ask this of me… why can we not continue with what we have? Why can we not let it remain unspoiled?”

Loki shook his head, appearing incredulous. “We are past that. Can you not see?”

I cringed at his tone.

“I cannot look at you now without imagining, without seeing—!” He suddenly took a step forward and kissed me hard, openmouthed. He tangled his long fingers in my hair, pushing my head back; I grabbed his wrists as he kissed me deeply, the embers in my belly stoked into a blazing fire once again. He finally pulled his face away, his large green eyes fixed on mine.

“I would have you,” he said possessively.

“Whether I wanted it or not?” I asked quietly, echoing his words from a few days earlier. I met his gaze unflinchingly and willed this fire inside me to die.

Loki stared at me for a long time, still holding my head in his hands. It looked as if he were rolling something over in his mind; his eyes kept flickering back and forth between mine. And then, slowly, resignedly, he unfurled his fingers from my hair and lowered his arms.

Finally, Loki spoke, his voice quiet. “You would not have me, then?”

“I would not be your mistress,” I responded warily, lips still burning from his kiss.

I saw the side of his mouth twitch, but he quickly composed himself. “Very well, then,” he replied cordially. He turned around without another word and made his way back into my chambers.

I followed him tentatively, disconcerted with the abrupt change in his demeanor.

Loki stopped at the door and turned to me, his hand on the handle. I could not read his face. It was blank. I pressed my lips together as he then opened the door and stepped outside.

As soon as he shut the door behind him, I put my back to the door and slid down it, glancing over to the chair in front of the fireplace. Miserably, I buried my face in my hands, the now bitter taste of blood still lingering on my tongue.


	7. Part I - Chapter 7

Stjarnavetr

I was beyond nervous for our next seidr lesson, afraid that Loki might try to talk to me about what he had done, or perhaps even press me again to lie with him. But, much to my relief, he made no mention of that night. In fact, he never spoke to me of it again, much like that first kiss at the edge of Asgard.

I certainly did think on it enough, though. For many nights to follow, I would lie in my bed, unable to sleep, and think of him kneeling between my open legs, running his hands over my body. What if I had said yes? What if I had invited him in further, bringing his mouth to mine and returning his affections? What if I had consented to becoming his mistress?

If it had not been for my ruined self, and I had given in to the desire I had felt, I would not be lying here alone. I would be in his bed now, fingers digging into his pale skin and legs wrapped around his waist. But I comforted myself with the thought that he would have grown tired of me and it was for the best that I spurn his advances. It was foolish of me to think that he would have truly kept me as his mistress; I saw the way he was, I knew how many women he went through. It was foolish to think on this at all.

And so I tried my best to push these venomous thoughts from my mind. They would drive me mad in time, if I dwelled on them too long. The fact was, I was not Loki’s mistress and so it was imperative that I carry on as best I was able. If I could not be his lover, then let me be his friend, for I liked him well enough, and he me, obviously.

But despite Loki having respected my wishes to stop pestering me about sleeping with him, to a degree, he was not the type to let things go. He was constantly pushing the boundaries of our relationship. He was quite overly affectionate towards me and many came eventually to assume we were lovers, if they did not already, for Loki would invite me out on walks through the palace and the grounds, coming to find me if he was bored and not preoccupied with his other tutors or duties.

When we walked, though, with arms linked, at Loki’s insistence, we only wandered around, chatting casually. I would tell him of the dullness of the other handmaidens, how the silly things they talked about bored me, tell him of Vanaheim (always steering around the topic of Valdrlund, which he mercifully did not press) and he would tell me of his studies and relate to me a thousand different ways of how Thor was an idiot.

Loki also began giving me gifts, such as oils and scents for my hair and skin, obtained from the royal perfumer, and books of runes that he thought might interest me. Though I accepted these gifts tentatively, I did appreciate his rather tame attempt at wooing me. It was almost amusing to see Loki, with his infamous and libidinous sexual appetite, resorting to these amiable and innocent acts to gain my favor. I am sure he thought that I could not hold out forever against his indelible charm and eventually I would succumb to his advances; unfortunately for him, as he would soon come to see, he had greatly underestimated my fortitude.

And yet, regardless of his underlying intentions, I did enjoy spending time with him. Though Loki did not completely let it go, this matter of trying to entice me into his bed, he withdrew enough for me to relax. So now that I was not fending off his more ardent advances, such as pinning me to a chair and nipping at my breasts, I found him to be a most pleasant, albeit oftentimes vexing, companion and, even with his volatile personality, found myself drawn to him. As long as he did not directly try to pull me into his bed, I was fairly content with how things were.

And so we passed perhaps a year in this friendly camaraderie.

I assimilated quite easily into the Asgardian way of life; Queen Frigga was pleased with Loki’s progress in seidr and I had grown used to the tiny, stable group of handmaidens, which constantly included Gullhár, Maerrhár, and Málvit. All of the others were coming and going like the seasons, as Loki soiled them. Nonetheless, life was simple, and good, in the Realm Eternal.

I found myself thinking less and less of Vanaheim and those who had made my life there. Valdrlund only ever appeared in my dreams and even those were becoming less and less frequent, much to my relief. Eventually, I was able to go a day without remembering back to those days before I had come here, and then a week, and finally a month. I thought myself past it, and was content in my place here in Asgard. And so the only erratic thing in my life, the only thing that threatened to make it anything but normal, was Loki.

__

One day, well over a year after I had begun instructing Loki in seidr, he stopped me as I went to leave for the day.

“Half a moment, Stjarna,” Loki called, rising from his chair. “I wanted to ask you something.”

I turned around to face him. “Yes?”

“Have you ever come to see me train?”

“You know that I have not.”

He attempted to mask a smile. “Well, I would have you come see me in a couple of days.”

“Oh. You mean in the training yard?”

“Obviously. Where else would I train?” he snapped.

“Am I allowed to be there?” I inquired.

“Yes, of course,” he said shortly. “You would just sit off to the side. There are benches.”

I thought about it for a moment and acquiesced, somewhat hesitantly, “I suppose I could come.”

He nearly beamed. “Of course you can. I know how Frigga’s women spend their time. Cards and gossip, no? I am sure you can bear to tear yourself away for an hour or so. You know when and where, of course.”

I nodded. I knew Loki’s schedule as well as my own.

He led me to his door and opened it for me. “I will see you then.”

__

The next morning, I made my way to the training yard.

I must admit that I was excited to see Loki train. I had never seen him fight, though he had many times before described to me what happened during his training sessions. He usually trained with the Einherjar, though he and Thor would often spar, as well. These little matches usually ended with Thor victorious; Loki did not particularly like talking about that part.

As I entered the training yard, I felt the eyes of the Einherjar upon me. Women were not often found here, save for the Lady Sif, who was a warrior as well.

I am sure I looked positively lost. I felt out of place and a little nervous coming here by myself. Loki had been with me the first time, and knew exactly what to do and where to go. Though my face radiated calmness, I was frantically scanning the grounds for Loki.

As I walked, keeping an eye out for Loki, I observed the happenings of the yard. Many of the Einherjar were sparring with one another, the sound of their clanging swords ringing out as they swung their weapons and fended off blows, their grunts as they lunged and dodged the strikes of their opponents. I could smell their sweat permeating the dry air, feel the dust kicked up by their feet on my skin.

I was not sure if I liked the atmosphere of the training yard.

It did not take me long to spot Loki, who was standing next to Thor halfway across the yard.

I knew that both Thor and Loki’s schedules had them training together twice a week. Thor’s schedule (which I also knew, thanks to Loki’s incessant and informative complaining) had him training four times a week; his schedule was focused more on the physical aspects of kingship, while Loki’s tended to deal with pursuits of the mind.

Filled with relief, I made my way towards Loki and Thor, drawing looks from passing Einherjar.

“Your Highness?” I said, coming up behind them.

Loki turned around. “Stjarna! I was wondering when you’d show.”

Thor gave me an exaggerated bow. “Lady Stjarnavetr! Loki told me he had invited his Vana. Have you come to watch him and his little throwing knives?”

Loki scowled at his brother.

I smirked, though. “I have indeed come to watch Loki. And his little throwing knives.”

Loki looked less than amused.

“Prepare to be impressed, Lady Vana. Loki here’s got impeccable aim.” Thor clapped Loki on the shoulder, grinning.

“Then I might just aim for your throat,” Loki snapped. He grabbed my arm and led me away from Thor, who watched us with an air of amusement.

“What is wrong with you?” I asked as Loki marched me all the way across the grounds.

Loki said, “Nothing. It is only that Thor’s an idiot.”

He released my arm and pointed to some stone benches under the arches that surrounded the training yard. “You can watch from there. I’ll be there.” He motioned towards the large pit nearby, made of hard-packed earth and sand. Weapon racks and water barrels dotted the outside of the area, and a few Einherjar sparred inside.

I laughed softly, turning away from Loki. “What are you going to do that required my presence, Your Highness?”

“Patience,” Loki chided with a sly smile. He turned and made his way back to Thor while I seated myself on a bench. The two brothers spoke for a short time while Loki donned some light protective gear: a light leather vest and vambraces on his forearms. As he laced them up, I saw a group of Einherjar nearby also pulling on heavier protective gear. I wondered if they would be training with Loki.

After Loki was finished, both he and Thor made their way to the center of the pit. Thor spoke to Loki briefly before affectionately clasping the side of his neck and murmuring something encouraging. Thor left Loki there and to my surprise made his way over to me. He passed through the group of Einherjar I had been watching earlier as they made their way into the pit. They formed a very large circle around Loki as Thor sat next to me.

“Your Highness,” I acknowledged respectfully, inclining my head.

Thor said, “You’ve never seen Loki train before, have you?”

“I have not.”

“He’s very good, despite what the others say. His style is different, that’s all. He’s fascinating to watch. But don’t let him know I said that, he might get too big a head.”

I smiled, but kept my eyes on Loki.

There were eight Einherjar around Loki, simply standing, holding large, heavy-looking swords in their hands. Other Einherjar had gathered around the pit to watch; the yard was nearly silent.

“This exercise is purely to test Loki’s skills,” Thor explained quietly to me, a smile playing on his lips. “That is why the Einherjar wear the protective gear, so Loki does not damage them too badly.” He laughed, then. “They hate training with him.”

Despite Thor’s comments praising Loki’s abilities, I was apprehensive.

But Loki looked so sure of himself, turning to look at each one of the Einherjar, giving them all a little nod.

All was silent and still.

Thor whispered, “Now.”

Suddenly, one of the Einherjar moved, rushing forward and wielding his blade above his head. Loki stood completely still until the Einheri was almost upon him. The man swung the sword in an arc, right for Loki’s head.

I let out a gasp, my hands flying to my mouth, and Thor chuckled next to me.

Loki merely ducked and took a step back, as if the sword had not been about to cut through his neck. My eyes were wide with shock. Surely Loki would have been severely injured if the Einheri’s sword had found its mark, or even beheaded. Did they not use false swords for training? 

The Einheri swung again, but Loki easily spun out of the arc of the sword and went down on his knees. There was suddenly a dagger in his hand, pulled from a pocket somewhere on his person. He was so fast; he grabbed for the Einheri and viciously thrust the dagger up into the man’s gut, into the protective gear. If the man had not been wearing the gear, or his armor underneath, he surely would have been disemboweled.

Loki stood up again and, in a flash, was defending himself against two Einherjar who had taken the opportunity to come up behind him while he handled his first opponent. The first Einheri, pretending death, wandered off of the yard, stripping the gear as he went.

Both Einherjar that had come up behind Loki swung their swords at the same time. Loki dropped to his knees, in between both men. Almost savagely, Loki grabbed one of the Einherjar’s thighs and drove his fist into his knee. There was a resounding pop that seemed to echo through the yard; the Einheri cried out and stumbled sideways, dropping his sword into the dust. Loki was on his feet in an instant and behind the Einheri whose knee he had just dislocated. He wrapped his fingers in the man’s hair and yanked his head back, watching the other Einheri from over the man’s shoulder.

The other Einheri had been about to swing his sword again, but stopped when he saw Loki standing behind his injured comrade, using him as a shield. All three men stopped moving. Loki was smiling. He slowly ran his dagger over the Einheri’s throat. He did not cut him, but it was meant to simulate that Loki would have killed him.

Loki released the Einheri in his arms, who staggered out of the pit, and was promptly seated by his fellow warriors. Another Einheri held his leg and unceremoniously popped his knee back into place. I grimaced at the baseness of it all.

But my eyes were quickly drawn back to Loki and the third Einheri. They circled each other in the center of the pit, while the five remaining Einherjar stood still in a circle around them, waiting.

Loki’s current opponent to me resembled a large dog, clumsy and rash, while Loki resembled a cat; haughty, and yet concealing a calculating viciousness. While the Einherjar’s movements so far had been laborious and inelegant, which may in part have been due to their protective gear, Loki’s movements were not as wasted. Every supple move that Loki made, each incredibly, deceptively graceful movement, was meant to inflict maximum damage. To tear muscles, to slit throats, to eviscerate. If the Einherjar had not been so loaded with protective gear, and this battle had been real, it would have been some sort of macabre dance of death.

I stared in awe at Loki’s slim form as he walked so agilely around the third Einheri, eyes trained on the man’s face. He twirled his dagger in his fingers.

Suddenly, the Einheri moved, thrusting his sword towards Loki. Loki spun out of the way just in time, but the Einheri also spun around, anticipating Loki’s next location. He was right, though it was obvious that Loki had expected this. He blocked the sword’s path with his dagger, tensing his body against the powerful blow.

There was a loud, odd clanging sound. It did not sound like metal against metal, but I could not describe it. Thor audibly groaned next to me.

“They do not like that,” Thor said in a low voice. “They do not like it when he uses his magic.”

It was only then that I saw Loki’s dagger glowing a faint green. I had not noticed it before, for he had been moving so quickly. Loki had sheathed his dagger in his seidr. It would ensure the blade’s sharpness and durability, and also the wrath of the Einherjar. They thought it gave him an unfair advantage.

The two pressed against one another, their blades comically different in size and locked at the hilts. The Einheri, though, was taller and bulkier than Loki. He began pressing the prince back and down until Loki’s knees bent and he was gritting his teeth trying to hold up. Abruptly, the Einheri’s leg shot out and kicked at Loki’s knee.

Loki immediately buckled under the Einheri’s weight and slammed down hard on his back. The Einheri nearly fell on top of him, but quickly caught himself and raised his leg to press his foot to Loki’s chest. Loki rolled out of the way just as the Einheri’s foot stomped into the ground.

Loki was lying on his side in the dirt, but looked up at the Einheri above him, brought his leg up, and ferociously kicked at the man’s knee, taking him out just like he had his comrade. There was that sick popping sound again as the Einheri’s knee was dislocated; he cried out in pain. But he did not fall down; though shaky, he remained standing. The Einheri tried to swing his sword again, for Loki had immediately climbed to his feet, but Loki easily dodged the swing and, in the wake of the blow, rushed forward and behind the Einheri before the warrior could regain his composure. Loki fisted his hand in the man’s hair and pressed his dagger to his exposed throat.

The Einheri nodded in acknowledged defeat and Loki released him. As his comrade had done before him, he limped out of the pit and his knee was just as brusquely fixed.

But I was quite nervous. I had the fabric of my dress fisted in my hands as I watched Loki apprehensively. He was twirling his dagger in his fingers again and, though he was breathing hard, his skin glistening with sweat, he did not look fazed at all.

Thor sensed my uneasiness and said gently, “Watch.”

All at once, the five remaining Einherjar charged for Loki.

It seemed Loki paused for only a moment, to tuck his dagger behind his back, before he spun once on his feet and fell to one knee in the same movement. He threw his arms out as he went down, fingers splayed wide.

As soon as Loki threw his arms out, four of the Einherjar, on opposite sides of the pit, were violently thrown backwards in midstride, slamming onto their backs, their swords flying out of their hands and landing heavily on the hard earth. They all groped for the small silver knives embedded deeply in their protective gear, right above their hearts.

But there was still one Einheri left. This one Loki used his dagger for.

He rose up off of his knees, reached behind his back and, brandishing his dagger once again, blocked the last Einheri’s driving sword. But Loki did not keep the two blades connected; he quickly disengaged their weapons and drove the dagger in an upwards motion, all while in one quick, fluid movement stepping behind the Einheri and wrapping his arm under his chin to expose his throat. The dagger stopped only an inch from the soft flesh under the man’s jaw.

The Einheri nodded and put his hands up, dropping his sword. Loki lowered the dagger and released the warrior. 

I let out a deep breath, still staring at Loki, eyes wide.

There was the faint sound of half-hearted clapping from the Einherjar gathered around the pit as Loki collected his throwing knives from the four Einherjar that he had knocked down. He tucked them behind his back, into some sort of hidden pocket. I wondered if he ever carried the knives on him outside of training.

The training yard slowly came back to life. Einherjar took up sparring, and some congratulated Loki, though I am sure they felt obligated to. Loki had told me he was not as respected or venerated by the other warriors as was Thor, though he seemed perfectly able to perform just as well as any of them.

Both Thor and I stood up as Loki made his way towards us. He was smiling widely and I found myself smiling as well.

Thor clapped Loki on the shoulder and said to me, “What did I tell you, Lady Vana?”

Loki shrugged Thor off, but grinned nonetheless. His skin was flushed, and I could see the fine sheen of sweat on his brow.

“That was remarkable,” I said reverently. “Beautiful.”

Both Thor and Loki burst into laughter at my comment. I felt my skin flush.

“I’ve certainly never heard that before,” Thor chuckled. “The Vana thinks you’re beautiful, Loki.”

“The movements,” I said quickly, trying to excuse myself. “Your… technique, I mean.”

Loki only smiled at me.

Thor sighed, then. “Very good job, Loki. But there were only eight this time! We’ll see how you fare against me next time.” Thor bowed to me. “Lady Vana.” He then turned around and left Loki and I alone.

Loki looked at me, almost expectantly, eyebrows raised.

“I meant your technique was beautiful,” I reiterated timidly. “I did not mean… you.”

Loki laughed and began untying the leather vambraces on his forearms. “Well. I was thinking that perhaps we could discuss my beautiful technique later tonight over supper?”

“What?”

“Would you join me in my chambers this night for a private meal, Stjarna?”

My lips parted in surprise.

“I—I… cannot, Your Highness,” I stammered. Though I suddenly felt foolish for my panicky reaction, I was no fool. I knew where this was going, what Loki meant to do, and would not consent to it.

Loki stared at me coolly. He took a step forward and I leaned back. “Come now, Stjarna. It is only a meal between friends. It is no different from when you come to my chambers in the mornings.”

“Well, it would be quite different. There would be wine,” I countered, somewhat nervously.

“Lots of wine,” Loki agreed.

I only looked at him, my mind racing.

There was no reason for me to say no, other than the fact that I did not want to. I knew what he was doing. But my reluctance was not a good enough reason to say no to the prince of Asgard. Unfortunately it was all I had. “I am sorry, Your Highness, but I must respectfully decline.”

“Mmm. Perhaps another time, then.”

By “another time,” Loki meant later that afternoon.

__

I was in Queen Frigga’s chambers with the other handmaidens, along with the queen. She had been coerced into playing cards with a few of the other women and, much to their displeasure, kept winning. I could hear her tinkling laugh and the occasional frustrated groan of one of the handmaidens as she took their gold.

Everybody seemed to be in a jovial mood, for there was a highly anticipated event fast approaching: a wedding. Weddings were highly celebrated in Asgard, I had heard. Though I had not yet been to one in my time here, Gullhár and the others assured me that it was a celebration to rival anything I could have ever possibly seen in Vanaheim.

Gullhár and the others were talking about the wedding while I embroidered, mostly thinking of Loki in the training yard earlier that day and his offer to me afterwards. I was so focused on Loki, in fact, that I pricked my finger. I cursed and sucked on the tip, and then cursed again when I actually looked down at my work and found the lines to be skewed. Two entire rows I had botched, and would have to redo. I began to rip the thread out to begin again.

“Orn told me he saw you at the training yard this morning,” Málvit said suddenly.

I looked up.

“Are we not talking about the wedding anymore?” I asked.

“You were not talking about it in the first place,” Maerrhár laughed. “But we’re talking about this now. Is that true?”

I looked at Málvit, who was smiling as if she knew some sort of scandalous secret. Orn, an Einheri, was Málvit’s lover. They had not been together long, but Málvit absolutely adored him.

“Yes,” I replied irritably, still pulling out the stitching of my embroidery.

“His Highness Prince Loki was there?” Málvit continued.

I raised my eyebrows at her. “Yes, of course. That is when he trains, with Prince Thor.”

“Orn said the prince showed off for you.”

I felt the heat rising in my cheeks. I kept my face down, pretending like I was focusing on my embroidery.

“He only sparred with some of the Einherjar. I hardly would count that as showing off.”

Oh, but he had showed off for me. It was not as if he tried to be inconspicuous about it; bringing me to the training yard, the woman who many thought to be his lover, when there had been no particular reason for me to be there, and then dispatching eight Einherjar with not a scratch. I inwardly smiled.

“What happened?” Gullhár inquired.

“He fought eight Einherjar with just a dagger and his throwing knives. None of the Einherjar were able to touch him,” I said plainly, leaving out how graceful his movements had been, how I had held my breath in my exhilaration and felt my heart speed up.

“He’s helped by his magic,” Málvit added. “Orn told me that he uses it often, to give himself an advantage over those that he fights.”

That Loki knew magic was no secret. In fact, it was, somewhat, a source of embarrassment for him. Seidr was rare enough in Asgard; there were only a handful in the realm who knew it. That group, surprisingly, included Odin Allfather, who had been taught it by the goddess Freyja when she came from Vanaheim long ago. Despite its repute as a more feminine pursuit, the king had deigned to learn it in his constant thirst for knowledge. The Allfather had, in turn, taught it to his wife, who then taught it to Loki. But the king had commanded his wife to stop Loki’s lessons, as he did not wish Loki to become too invested in what was considered a feminine hobby. But Queen Frigga had not stopped. The Allfather probably thought Loki only knew how to make illusions and the like, but in reality, Loki was so more advanced than that.

“But is that not a good thing?” I asked, coming back to the conversation. “The prince would surely use it if he were in a real battle.”

Málvit shrugged. “The others do not like it, Orn says. They call it cheating. But even when fighting Prince Thor with his magic, he cannot win.” Málvit laughed quietly to herself.

“Well, does not Frey also use his magic?” I asked. I knew that Frey did not hesitate to make it known that he knew seidr. Even the men in Vanaheim knew seidr and utilized it. Frey was not ashamed of it.

“While fighting? Yes. They call him a cheat, too.”

“Oh, please!” Maerrhár scoffed. “He is one of the greatest warriors in all of Asgard and he is not even Asgardian. Prince Thor would have a difficult time besting him, even if Frey were to forego his magic. You would think that—”

Before Maerrhár could finish her sentence, though, one of the Einherjar standing outside the doors to the queen’s chambers announced, “His Highness, Prince Loki.”

Loki entered shortly after and stood still, his eyes quickly scanning the room.

Queen Frigga said, “Loki.”

He inclined his head respectfully. “Mother.”

“Have you come to visit me?”

“Sadly no,” Loki answered. “I simply came to tell you I will be dining privately this night.”

The queen nodded in understanding.

And then Loki’s eyes landed on me. He smiled as might a cat to a mouse.

He crossed the room and stood in the middle of our little circle, ignoring everybody but me. I was suddenly painfully conscious of the fact that he had taken nearly half the women in this room. Everybody was painfully conscious of that fact, including the woman who had given birth to him.

He stared down at my upturned face, which burned with embarrassment and anger.

I knew exactly what he was doing.

“I would be pleased if you would join me in my chambers this night for a private meal, Lady Stjarnavetr,” Loki said. He did not ask me; it was a polite order.

I could feel the stares of the other women. Not all of them friendly.

I pressed my lips together in annoyance and Loki smiled at me.

Bastard.

“Yes…” I breathed. What else could I say? In this situation? Surely I could not say no, not in front of the other women and in front of the queen.

“Hmm?” he asked, tilting his head.

“Yes,” I said a little more loudly, trying not to clench my jaw in irritation.

He smiled without showing his teeth. “I’ll expect you at nine, then.”

I nodded once, tightly.

Loki turned and bowed to his mother, who inclined her head, a smile on her lips, and then turned to leave. When he made it to the open doorway, he stopped, as if he had forgotten something. “Be sure to wear something nice,” he called over his shoulder, before finally exiting.

The silence was unbearable and seemed to drag on.

I heard the queen’s quiet voice across the room, then, speaking to one of the other handmaidens about the card game. I looked down at the sewing in my hands, the heat still lingering in my cheeks.

Maerrhár snickered.

“What?” I snapped quietly.

“Are you not always insisting that you do not share the prince’s bed?”

“Yes, because I do not,” I retorted.

Maerrhár smiled at me, almost sadly.

“I am not Loki’s mistress,” I reiterated sharply.

Gullhár made a slight hissing sound.

“The prince,” I said quickly. “I am not the prince’s mistress.”

The others merely smiled and returned to their whispering and sewing. I looked down at my own and closed my eyes. I felt such embarrassment for what everybody thought of me, that I was Loki’s lover, when I was not. But what could they think, when I was always in his room, and him giving me gifts, and us walking around the grounds, and now a private dinner in his chambers? Of course they thought that we were lovers. How could they not think that? How could I not think that?


	8. Part I - Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Stjarnavetr refers to Loki as an “Áss.” She is not calling him an asshole; “Áss” is the term applied to Aesir who are male. It is similar to Stjarna being a “Vana” since she is a female from Vanaheim.

Stjarnavetr

I was long in deciding what to wear that night. I hated myself for even worrying about it since Loki had basically forced me to accept his invitation to this private supper, even after I had expressly told him no. And yet, I found myself picking through my wardrobe, running the different fabrics indecisively through my fingers. I cursed myself for my stupidity and thought, sardonically, that if I were to show up naked he would clap his hands and commend me most heartily on my choice of dress.

At last I settled on a dark blue dress with fitted sleeves and gold embroidery. I tugged the dress over my shift, fastened my belt around my waist, and braided my hair with a gold ribbon and circled it around the back of my head. I studied myself in the mirror and thought that I looked presentable enough, at least for a private supper with the prince of Asgard.

I made my way to Loki’s chambers alone, hands clasped in front of me. All the way, I kept telling myself that I would not let anything get out of hand, for I remembered uneasily that he had promised me that there would be an abundance of wine. I knew that he would try his best to make sure things did get out of hand.

When I arrived at his chambers, I stood there for a little while, trying to collect myself, before knocking lightly. Within a moment, the door was thrown open. Loki must have been right next to it inside, waiting for me. He stood there, smiling licentiously.

I inclined my head and greeted him. “Good evening.”

“Stjarna.”

I entered and went past him.

“This is for you,” Loki said, producing a small object wrapped in a slippery green cloth and tied with gold twine immediately upon my entering. He held it out to me.

I took it and ran my fingers over the cloth as he shut the door.

“What is it?” I asked, looking up at him.

“You’ll have to open it, obviously,” he replied offhandedly.

I untied the gold thread and unfolded the fabric. Inside was a circular gold brooch with a long, tapering pin. Intricate gold tracery, peppered with fragile granulations and inset with green precious stones, decorated the inside of the circle. It was a very striking piece of metalwork.

“It’s very beautiful,” I murmured, running my finger lightly over the swirling lines. Loki did not respond; he merely looked at me while I studied his gift, a small smile on his lips.

I noticed now two curvatures in particular, independent of the twisting paths of the others. They bent upwards in the circle, almost curling in on themselves; it was quite obvious what they were supposed to represent.

“Why does it look like your helmet?” I demanded suspiciously, holding the brooch up to look at it more closely.

Loki only laughed by way of response.

“Well?” I pressed, turning my head to meet Loki’s gaze.

Without replying, Loki reached up, took the brooch from my fingers, and put his hand on my shoulder. He turned me towards him and began to pin it to the fabric gathered at my breasts.

“Loki,” I asked curtly, watching him attach it, “what’s this for?”

“For wearing, clearly,” he said, eyes focused on his fingers.

“Yes, but what’s it for?”

Oh, but I knew what it was for. It was quite evident.

“Can you not simply take it?” he snapped. “Must everything I do be questioned? I thought women liked jewelry.”

I sighed and looked down at the brooch.

Loki had probably had it specially made by the goldsmith that created Queen Frigga’s own jewels, for the handiwork was absolutely superb and incredibly delicate. I had to admit to myself that it was a very thoughtful gift, but also dreaded the underlying meaning, for the blatant curvatures inside the circle were meant to represent his helmet. I knew that it was a badge to warn the others off of me. It announced to them all that I was Loki’s. Or at least, it announced to the other gods that he thought I was his.

But after nearly two years of dealing so closely with him, I knew that Loki would not let this go, however insignificant it may have seemed. For after all this time, even after I had spurned his advances and told him I could not become his mistress, he still felt the need to assert his claim over me. The brooch pinned to my dress attested to that.

“Will you wear it?” he asked me sincerely, holding my gaze.

I sighed and nodded resignedly, indicating my consent. It was only a brooch and I would not have us fight over something so trivial as this.

He smiled without showing his teeth and took my arm, leading me to the table. “Good. Let us eat now.”

Loki’s table was laden with steaming dishes, a few of them delicacies, and at least four flagons of wine. Two people could not hope to eat all of this.

“Is somebody else coming?” I inquired cautiously, peering at the huge layout.

“Of course not.”

“Why is there so much food?”

“It is for me.”

“Oh.”

I did not realize until now how much Loki really ever ate, as I could never see his plates during feasts, since the table for the queen’s handmaidens was not close enough to the high table. I wondered to myself how he could possibly be so skinny if this was what he ate for supper every day.

“I hope you’ve saved some for me,” I laughed, thinking that I might as well try to make the best of this night.

Loki pulled the chair out for me and I seated myself. He quickly made his way around and sat opposite of me.

I glanced around his chambers, perceiving the emptiness. “Will there be no servants?”

“No. I’ve dismissed them. We’re all alone.” He moved to fill his cup with wine.

“Hmm.”

“Allow me,” Loki offered, reaching over to pour my cup full of wine. As it splashed into the cup, I felt a tightening in my gut, but quickly pushed the feeling away. This was Asgard. This was Loki. Not Vanaheim, not Valdrlund. The wine was not poisoned, surely.

I picked the cup up and hesitantly sipped it. Plain spiced wine. I closed my eyes, feeling foolish for my irrationality. I took another draught, trying to drown my nervousness.

Loki was smiling at me when I put the cup down.

“What?” I questioned, swallowing.

“You look lovely,” he remarked, slightly tilting his head.

“Erm, thank you. You did say to dress nicely,” I said, looking down at myself and running my fingertips over the gold embroidery on my front. “Though, I feel a bit overdressed,” I added, staring pointedly at Loki’s rather casual appearance. He was wearing one of his more informal leather surcoats, not so heavily weighted down with metal as many of his others were.

“Nonsense.” Loki’s eyes roved down my front and lingered on my fingers, which had come to rest on his brooch. I lowered my arm and looked down at my empty plate.

“What do we talk about?” I asked finally.

“Act as if we are at a seidr lesson,” Loki joked, “with food and wine.”

“A seidr lesson? With food? Things could get quite messy,” I warned him, stroking my fingers on my cup.

“Let us only hope,” he responded, much more seriously, his eyes lingering on me before he looked down to begin piling food on his plate.

__

Two and a half hours later, both Loki and I were somewhat inebriated, despite an earlier resolution of mine not to lose my head. But I had not let go in so long and was enjoying myself immensely. We were not drunk, however. It would take more than four flagons of wine to get either of us truly drunk, but we were tipsy; a delicious mixture of recklessness and headiness. 

At the moment, we were discussing the upcoming wedding between one of the Allfather’s closest confidantes, the god Njord, and his bride-to-be, Skadi. I commented to Loki that I had not yet experienced an Asgardian wedding, but had been assured by the other handmaidens of their significance and grandeur.

Loki sighed dramatically. “They are tremendously boring.”

I raised my eyebrows and took a bite of wild boar covered in some sort of sweet sauce. I was appreciatively conscious of how hard Loki had tried on this dinner. But then again, his “trying hard” had been simply ordering the servants around.

“You do not enjoy weddings?” I asked in surprise. Personally, I had always enjoyed the weddings in Vanaheim, despite my general unease at the court there.

“I do not enjoy them as much as I do what comes after,” Loki said with a small chuckle. He was leaning sideways in his chair, his empty cup almost dangling from his slender fingers as he played with it.

I creased my brows. “The feast? Is it because you like to eat?”

Loki snorted. “Not quite.”

I looked at him oddly.

“I am not talking about the feast,” Loki explained, leaning forward. “I am talking about what comes after the feast.”

I raised my eyebrows expectantly.

Loki grinned. “Thor’s after-party.”

“Prince Thor?”

“Yes, of course, who else would I be talking about? There is a great feast afterwards to honor the most happy couple and it lasts long into the night. But then there is Thor’s after-party, which lasts long up into the morning. Thor’s celebratory gatherings are... ribaldrous, to say the least.” Loki ran his index finger slowly over his brow, looking at me with a smile on his lips.

I fought back my own smile. “Pray tell, Prince.”

Loki took a deep breath and let out a short laugh. “Oh, they are marvelous. Everybody gets blind drunk and there is rampant fucking.”

Loki reached for a flagon, which contained the last of the wine, and offered it to me. When I declined, for my cup was still fairly full, he promptly poured it into his and then asked me if I would be attending Thor’s after-party.

I laughed. “I must admit, Loki, you have piqued my curiosity. We will see.”

Loki drained his cup and then said, “No doubt Mother’s women will coerce you into attending. I am sure they look forward to celebrations of this sort. After all, your lives must be so dull. I’m sure a little depravation would suit you all.” He chuckled and then added, “No maid comes back a maid.”

“Then it is a good thing I am no maid,” I countered, taking a piece of boar between my teeth. Loki’s eyes lingered on my lips briefly before I took it on my tongue and began chewing.

His eyes flickered up to mine. His smile was lecherous. “So tell me. When was it that our lovely Stjarna lost her precious maidenhead?”

I raised my eyebrows and then burst into laughter. His question, though unexpected, and highly inappropriate for our respective positions, did not deter me. As I have said before, I had long ago grown accustomed to his insensitivity and tactlessness. And we were both a bit light-headed, and our tongues loose, so I was not as offended as I rightfully should have been.

“In Vanaheim, to Prince Valdrlund,” I answered. In my state of half-drunken merriment, even his name did not faze me or incite in me a feeling of panic.

Loki squinted at me and asked curiously, “Have you ever had another?”

“Other than Val? No.”

“Val?”

I quickly corrected myself. “Valdrlund.” I had used to call him Val when we were alone. He had liked it.

Loki raised his eyebrows, incredulous. “You’ve never had another? He’s the only one?”

“He would not allow it,” I said nonchalantly, reaching for my cup.

“Not allow it?” Loki looked incensed. “Did he at least please you?”

“What?”

Loki looked irritated now and said indelicately, “When he fucked you, did he please you?”

I balked at his crudeness and only stared at him, my eyes wide.

Loki gazed at me from across the table, and when he spoke his voice was quiet. “He did not, did he?”

Though Valdrlund had not completely disregarded my own desires in our century together, he had not been the most conscientious lover. He had not often touched me or used his tongue or fingers to please me, as he insisted I do to him, and hardly did he ever make sure that I was there, tumbling over the precipice of ecstasy with him. Though sometimes he had looked at me with such love. And when we were done, and he spent, he would enfold me in his arms and press his face into my neck and whisper of his love for me. It had not been so bad all the time.

“Did he never touch you?”

I gaped at Loki, astounded. Had he no decency?

Before I could respond, Loki leaned forward and asked, “Did he bring you to culmination?”

I did not think I could be anymore shocked by his effrontery and my mouth nearly fell open. My face was burning both with embarrassment and from the wine. 

“Loki, stop,” I warned.

He ignored me and pressed again. “Did he?”

“Loki, I do not wish to—”

“He did not, did he? What a shame…”

I pressed my lips together in irritation.

“And what of you? For surely the prince was also at one time a simpering virgin?” I asked tersely, trying to make him the focus of the conversation now instead of me. I did not wish to discuss my past intimacies with Valdrlund any longer. I did not want to think of them, or him.

Much to my relief, Loki laughed under his breath and turned his head. I waited for him to say something, but then his smile slowly faded and his expression became grave. He was quiet for a long moment before I heard him whisper something under his breath.

I leaned forward, not having heard him and a little surprised at his sudden change in demeanor. “What?”

“Angrboda,” he breathed. He was looking over at the wall, not seeing.

“Angrboda,” I repeated, trying the name on my tongue. “Who is she?”

His eyes flickered to mine. “She was a giantess. In Utgard.”

“Utgard?” I raised my eyebrows.

It could be said that there existed different breeds of giants. There were the fire giants that dwelled in Muspelheim, the land of flames, and the frost giants that resided in the part of Jötunheim that was barren and frozen. But all of Jötunheim was not covered in jagged glaciers and rotten ice. A good part of it instead was gouged with great arid valleys and covered with towering mountains and deep, dark forests. It was the rock giants who inhabited this part of Jötunheim and their stronghold was called Utgard. These giants stood apart from their more savage cousins and resembled the Aesir both in stature and looks. Though the relationship between the Aesir and the rock giants could not be described as amiable, their rivalry was not as bitter as that between the Aesir and the frost giants.

“Yes. When Thor and I were younger, Father had a party travel to Utgard to try to improve deteriorating relations between the Aesir and the rock giants. Thor and I were taken with, so we might observe. The trip was an absolute disaster—” Loki’s solemnity gave way now to mirth as he fought back laughter “—because Thor got into a brawl with the king’s old nurse—and lost—” he snickered, pausing to catch his breath “—and our party was nearly chased off with threats of war by their king, Skrýmir. Father was beyond displeased. He exiled his most senior diplomat to Midgard for failing in his mission, for nearly allowing the incitation of a new war, and for allowing Thor and I to behave so recklessly.”

I laughed so hard that I doubled over in my chair. The image of Thor wrestling with an old woman, and losing, was something I would have loved to see.

“It was quite the spectacle,” Loki agreed. And then, gradually, his smile once again melted away and his face became grim.

“So what of Angrboda?” I inquired, squinting at him and wondering as to why he kept taking on that severe, faraway look.

I saw him swallow hard and it looked as if the color had drained from his face. He was quiet and now looking at a spot behind my head. “Yes, she was a giantess there at Skrýmir’s court,” he said soberly.

I was intrigued that Loki’s first had been a giantess. I tried to imagine him, only an adolescent then, lankier and smaller, barely a man, taken to bed by such a creature. I wondered if she had been beautiful. She would have resembled one of the Aesir, but perhaps just a little larger.

“It was the next morning when Father’s diplomat burst into her rooms and dragged me out of her bed by my hair, shouting about war and impudence and stupid princes and some other nonsense.” Loki bit his bottom lip and looked away. “They thought I’d been abducted or killed by the giants. They could not find me. They had the entire party of Asgardians scouring the palace of Utgard, searching for me, and it drove the giants into a fury. But they found me at last.”

I was pleased that Loki was willing to reveal more than I had. He did not seem ashamed at all, though, to some extent, seemed terribly troubled by something.

“Was she any good?” I ventured, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips. And then, before he could reply, and before I had even considered how wildly inappropriate my question was—not that Loki was the type to keep a conversation chaste—I asked, “What was it like?”

Loki slowly turned his head to look at me. “What was what like?”

“Angrboda. What was she like?”

Loki’s lips parted slightly, his eyes falling down to look at something on the table. I saw the subtle change in his breathing, how now his chest rose and fell a little quicker, how his fingers tightened on his cup, and how he tensed his jaw.

Suddenly he looked up at me, eyes stormy and lips set in a long, thin line.

“Do not ask me of her again,” he snapped. “Do you understand?”

I leaned back, surprised at his reaction. “I am sorry, Loki, I did not mean to—”

“It does not matter,” he said harshly. “Just stop talking about it.”

I gave a small nod, gazing at him warily. He had not spoken to me like that in such a long time.

The silence seemed to drag on before I hesitantly opened my mouth to speak. “What did the Allfather do to you two when you came back to Asgard?”

Loki looked down again and took a short breath. His voice was not so hard now. “He yelled at us. It was worse than when I cut Sif’s hair off.”

I perked up. “What? You cut Sif’s hair off?”

Loki snorted, trying to stifle his laughter now. Though I was a bit unnerved at how incredibly unpredictable his temperament was, I relaxed now that he was not staring at me so maliciously, and his voice was not so ugly. “A couple of centuries ago I snuck into Sif’s chambers at night and cut all of her hair off.”

“What would possibly drive you to do something like that?” I did not much like Sif—she was not kind to me, though I had hardly spoken a dozen words to her since my arrival in Asgard.

“She’s horrible. How could I not?”

I only stared at him and he laughed loudly.

“It’s why Sif hates me. She never forgave me for it, her walking around half-bald. Eir could only do so much to speed up the growth.”

“That was awful, Loki.”

“Sif is awful. I care not. I would do it again, if Thor would not come after me. Again.”

“Again? What did he do the first time?”

“He beat me bloody. Eir had to mend me. Father did nothing.” Loki began playing with his empty cup, looking quite serious, and staring at something off to the side.

Both of us were silent for a long time. Finally, feeling I had overstayed my visit, and feeling that our discussion had run its course, and in the process gone a little too deep, I slowly pushed back my chair and stood up, supporting myself on the table.

“I think it’s best if I go now,” I said.

Loki rose with me. “What? Why?”

“It is growing late, Loki. I should retire.”

He nodded once and then asked, motioning to the table, “Did you enjoy this?”

“I did,” I confessed.

“I would do this more often with you,” he admitted. “Do you not find feasts to be so loud and boring?”

I did indeed find feasts to be rather tedious. Admittedly, dining with Loki would be much more interesting than listening to the dull roar of the great hall and the incessant tittering of the handmaidens.

I nodded. “I would not mind that. You would deign to spend some of your afternoons with me?”

Loki made his way around the table, smiling at me, and stood in front of me. “I already spend many of my mornings with you,” he remarked, reaching towards my waist.

Before I could protest, Loki hooked his fingers in my belt and pulled me towards him. I stumbled against him, the wine having made me slightly unsteady, and I grabbed at his upper arms for support. Before I could pull away, he drew his fingers out of my belt, spread his hands on my lower back, and locked his fingers together, pulling me closer to him. We were standing there now with him smiling down at me and our lower halves pressed together.

Loki looked down at me and said in a low voice, “I would spend my nights with you, as well.”

“Oh,” I whispered.

Gods, please not this again.

I leaned away from him as much as I could, my breaths coming faster in my nervousness. I could feel him through my dress. He smiled. He knew.

“May I kiss you, Stjarna?” he asked quietly.

“What? Why?” I asked in alarm.

“Because we’re drunk and you’re so very lovely,” he stated with a slight tilt of his head.

“Hardly,” I scoffed, responding to his assertion that we were drunk. With him being an Áss and I a Vana, the both of us could tolerate alcohol very well. At most, we were extremely giddy.

I tried to extract myself from him, but he held tightly onto me, grinning as I struggled in vain. I shifted my legs and could feel him even more, feel the swell of his growing arousal pressing into my lower stomach, infuriatingly close to the spot between my legs. I bared my teeth in a sort of exasperation as I tried to loosen his grip, reaching back to unfurl his fingers. I cursed his lack of consideration for personal space. I had never known him to be conscious of it.

“Would you not stay with me this night?” he asked quietly, oblivious to my trying to pry his fingers apart behind me. Our faces were only inches apart now. I could smell the wine on his breath and I am sure he could feel my heartbeat, if not hear it, for our proximity.

“I would rather not,” I said with a slight tremble, my fingers stilling.

“Why?”

“I am… tired.”

He only laughed and pulled me tighter to him.

And then, much to my dismay, I felt my body responding to his. Felt the heat bubbling in the pit of my stomach, the wetness that began to pool between my thighs. I gritted my teeth in frustration.

Loki lowered his head and purred near my ear, “Now we both know what a lie that is.”

“Loki, stop,” I said quietly.

“But you’ve not even tried to push me away,” he breathed.

And then I felt his lips on me, felt the brief wetness of his tongue beneath my ear.

I swallowed hard. Everything suddenly felt hot and I knew I should not have, but gods, I loved it.

Despite my trepidation, despite my resolution not to give in to him, and I am sure somewhat due to the wine, as Loki had probably intended, I tilted my head slightly, hesitantly, opening more of my throat up for him. He felt me move and, upon realizing my silent invitation for him to continue, kissed me harder, more eagerly. I could feel his teeth graze my skin.

He unlocked his hands from behind me and moved them to my hips, pulling me even closer. I let out a little breath, feeling his hardness so close against me; I had never felt him like this. I brought my hands up to his arms and gripped the fabric of his sleeves, leaning forward to press my forehead against the front of his shoulder. I liked this tame intimacy. I liked him holding me. I liked his lips on my skin and I liked being so close to him. And as much as I hated to admit, I liked feeling the proof of his desire against me. It accentuated the heat building between my legs, burning now for release.

Loki mumbled something hotly into my skin.

“What?” I breathed, lifting my head up.

He brought his head back and looked into my eyes. His own were hazy with desire.

“Would you stay with me?” he murmured.

I felt my gut tighten with dread and I suddenly did not feel so desirous.

“No,” I said, almost inaudibly. I shook my head; this had gone too far.

“Why not?” he asked gently. Instead of replying, I attempted to step backwards, but he tightened his fingers on my hips, disallowing me movement. His voice was low and insistent now. “Let me show you, Stjarna. Let me give you what he would not.”

I shook my head indiscernibly, eyes focused on the bump on the column of his throat. Even though I did not wish to, I could imagine the things Loki hinted at, could envision the things he wanted to do to me—to give me what Valdrlund had not, he said.

Loki brought his hands up from my hips and cupped my face, lifting it towards him. Before I could draw away, he kissed me. He opened my mouth and pushed his tongue past my teeth. And instead of pulling away, as I should have done, and now prolonging what I knew would end with my leaving, and his dissatisfaction, and perhaps aggravation, I responded to his kiss just as fervently, telling myself that it was the wine.

He ran his tongue eagerly through my mouth, across the roof and over my teeth and under my lips, curling around my tongue. He tilted his head and pushed towards me and I felt his long, slender fingers combing back and up into my hair, dislodging some of the pins.

I rose up on my tiptoes, pushing myself into him. I relished the heady, wine-laced taste of his mouth and sought his tongue out, sucking on it as he did mine. The fire in the pit of my stomach flared now and it was as if every little movement he made against me sent little jets of heat coursing through my body, all of which settled pleasantly between my legs.

Loki pulled his face away just before I went to wrap my fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. Slowly I opened my eyes. He was sucking on his lips, looking down at me expectantly, waiting for the words that would allow him to take me to his bed and finally have me, as he was so desperate to do.

I could see it. I could see us together, tangling and meeting on his bed, and I could already smell the sweat, the heady scent of our arousals mingling in the air. Hear us gasping as we moved against one another, fingers digging into the bed and each other’s skin. I realized then that I wanted that. I wanted him on me and in me. Gods, I wanted him.

But something was there in the back of my mind, coming up fast, and I could not drown it out. I gripped the fabric on Loki’s arms tighter, staring up into his hopeful eyes.

It all came roaring back, then. I could not smell us anymore, but only blood. I did not hear our breaths as we panted into each other’s mouths, but screaming, begging. My blood ran cold and my body was suddenly rigid in Loki’s arms.

Even here, in the solace of Loki’s chambers, enfolded in his arms, with him against me and the taste of him still in my mouth, Vanaheim had its hooks buried in me. I would never be rid of it or the memories. They would always be there in the back of my mind, watching and waiting. They would keep me from this, this which I now most desperately wanted.

I felt a sob rising in my throat, but I closed my eyes and swallowed hard, trying to banish it from my mind. Not now. Do not let it come out here.

“Stjarna?”

I opened my eyes. Loki’s eyebrows were furrowed, lips parted with concern.

But I let go of him and tried to take a step back, shaking my head. Miserably, I stammered, “No, no… I am so sorry, I am sorry…”

I saw disappointment flicker over his expression. He did not know. He only thought I was rejecting him for the sake of preserving myself, as he had thought the first time, I am sure. But much to my relief, he let me go, his hands falling to his sides.

I turned around and hastily made my way to his door, feeling unsteady. I opened it and looked back at him despondently. He only stared at me, still standing by the table.

“I am sorry, Loki,” I said quietly, trying to calm myself and keep the tremble from my voice. And then, even more quietly, “Thank you for dinner.”

He made no reaction to that and so I turned to leave. I stepped out into the corridor and shut the door behind me, letting out a shaky breath and burying my face in my hands. I stood there for a long moment, trying to control my breathing, trying to block the images. Trying to forget.

Once I had collected myself, I made my way back to my own chambers slowly, feeling the dampness of my unslaked desire between my legs, as well as the dying glow. I fisted my dress in my hands until my knuckles turned white and my fingers ached, cursing Vanaheim and Valdrlund and all of them who had done this to me.

In my chambers, I wept. I wept for the thought of never having Loki, for never having the chance for him to satisfy this desire in me. I wept for everything that had been stolen from me and for everything that had been lost. But I wept hardest of all for all that I would never have again.


	9. Part I - Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features my own interpretation of the goat story from Norse mythology. If you do not know what that is, here are some different renditions of the myth:
> 
> loki-in-myth.tumblr.com/post/26776421281/loki-appeasing-skaði  
> norse-mythology.org/tales/the-marriage-of-njord-and-skadi/

Stjarnavetr

The next morning was our seidr lesson. I prayed Loki would not bring up the night previous. I did not wish to speak of it or what had unfortunately—and embarrassingly—happened after, when I had gone back to my chambers and wept nearly all the night, unable to purge the memories and unable to relax for the dread I felt. When sleep finally claimed me in the early hours of the morning, it had been uneasy and plagued with nightmares of Vanaheim.

I am sure Loki could tell I did not get much sleep. I am sure he noticed my drained appearance, though he mercifully did not inquire about it. But I could see him looking at the dark circles beneath my eyes, noticing the way I kept rubbing them and wiping my face, trying to refresh myself, and how my voice was slightly hoarse from crying.

When our lesson came to an end, I gave thanks that he had not mentioned the night before or inquired as to my state of quiet misery. But as usual, I was premature in my gratefulness.

As I went to leave, Loki stopped me and asked in a curiously flat voice, “Have I done something wrong, Stjarna?”

I froze and looked at him. I was silent for a long moment, staring at my hands, which were suddenly sweaty, trying to find the right words.

“No,” I said at last. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Oh, but he had. If he had kept his damned hands off of me, I would not have returned his kiss so vehemently, so recklessly, and it would not have brought to the surface those sickening images.

Loki looked incredulous at my statement. But I was not going to just pour my soul out to him. After a moment of silence, I bid him a good morning and left it at that, turning to leave. But before I could reach his door, I felt his fingers wrap around my wrist.

“Loki!” I exclaimed, pulling away from him. I did not want him touching me. I was fearful it might bring everything back.

“Why do you recoil from me now?” he asked, affronted. I opened my mouth to say something, but then closed it. I did not know what to say, or how to say it. When I only stared at him, he demanded, “What happened last night?”

“It was nothing you did,” I lied, but he only raised his eyebrows. He did not believe me. And so I said the first thing that came to my head, wishing to drop the matter.

“It is because you keep pushing me to lie with you. I will not do it, Loki. Stop it.”

I was surprised when he smiled, exposing his teeth. “You seemed to like it well enough last night, Stjarna.” I could almost feel his hands on my hips and his tongue in my mouth again.

“Yes, because you attempted to get me drunk,” I retorted, folding my arms over my chest. “I knew what would happen. It was foolish for me to even have come here.”

At that, Loki stiffened. “I thought we had a very pleasant evening.”

“Perhaps it would have been if you had not pestered me about Valdrlund and spoken to me so rudely about that giantess of yours.”

Something like anger flickered over his expression only briefly before he was once again smiling. He took a small step forward and said, “And yet you said you enjoyed the evening?”

“That was the wine talking, I am sure,” I rejoined.

“Of course it was,” he intoned with a smirk, making his way past me and to his door. He opened it for me, waiting expectantly. I went past him, annoyed at his amused expression, but thankful he did not press me again.

I heard him laugh as he shut the door.

__

At long last, the wedding that had had the handmaidens in a state of constant anticipation for months finally came. I was glad for it, as it was a welcome distraction from Loki and the general tedium of the court.

It would be a momentous celebration, the handmaidens told me, for Asgardians took their festivities, most especially their weddings, quite seriously. And since the groom, Njord, a Van who had come from Vanaheim to Asgard long ago, and acted as a sort of ambassador between the two realms, was one of Odin Allfather’s closest confidantes, no expense would be spared.

When I talked about the weddings I had attended in Vanaheim, Gullhár and the others only laughed. They assured me that Asgardian weddings, what with their sheer grandeur, could not be contended with. And they certainly did not lie, or exaggerate, in any way.

The wedding itself would have put to shame anything in Vanaheim.

The king’s hall, Gladsheim, was completely transformed that day. Enormous and billowy diaphanous gold and silver banners hung from the ceiling, walls, and columns, making it look as if we walked beneath h a rippling, metallic sea.

Everybody wore their best. Walking into the hall with Queen Frigga’s other handmaidens, I nearly had to shade my eyes from the glare of everybody’s finery. I thought that my own dress, mirrored by all of the other handmaidens, was disproportionately ostentatious. It was a long flowing thing with crisscrossing gold bands and excessive gold embroidery. We also wore decorative gilded breastplates and vambraces on our forearms, and our hair was loose down our backs, twined and braided with gold thread.

We entered the hall behind the queen shortly before the wedding was to begin, who walked in front with Thor and Loki, also dressed in their ceremonial attire. The two princes, once we reached the front of the hall, went to the left to be seated, and the queen to the right. We took our seats behind her, filing in silently. Once seated, I began looking around, observing the hall, which was very nearly full and filled with a low rumble from the conversation of the crowd.

I managed to catch Loki staring at me, and he gave me a mischievous half-smile. I squinted when I saw him mouthing something. “You look beautiful…”

I quickly looked away. I could imagine him laughing to himself at my reaction.

The wedding fortunately commenced a short time later.

Njord and Skadi were dressed most sumptuously of all I saw, when they finally entered. I was very pleased to see Njord dressed in the fashion of Vanaheim. His clothes consisted more of muted colors, but were no less rich. His robe was a shimmering mossy green with interlacing gold thread, and he wore bits of bright gold armor, marking his rank as that of being under the king. Skadi, on the other hand, was a vision in silver. Her long, nearly white hair was laced with silver bands, and her arms weighted down with circular silver bracelets, while her layered gown, banded in silver as well, and which resembled water, was intricately beaded with precious white stones.

The ceremony itself was not too different from those in Vanaheim. The Allfather performed the short service for Njord and Skadi, beating his great spear Gungnir once on the floor after the vows had been said and all was done. The sound echoed in the hall, reverberating throughout the great space. Suddenly, all within stood and began clapping and cheering. It was as if thunder rolled through Gladsheim, shaking the walls and causing the great banners to shudder and ripple.

I was surprised at how quickly the wedding was over, for all this pageantry. But I did not question it; I supposed this was the way of Asgardian weddings. Besides, there was still the banquet afterwards.

The banquet lasted long up into the night, as Loki had said. I sat with the other handmaidens, watching mostly the upper table, where Odin Allfather and Queen Frigga sat with Njord and Skadi, the two princes, and the other higher-ups, including Baldr and Týr.

Bragi, Asgard’s most highly exalted court poet and musician, played for the new couple during the banquet. Some of his tunes were newly written just for Njord and Skadi in honor of their marriage; he sang to them of wedded bliss and even the fertility of Skadi’s womb. Skadi watched Bragi with an air of boredom the entire time, much to my amusement.

When the feast ended, the tables in the great hall were cleared and the dancing began. Both Gullhár and I chose not to dance and we sat against the wall for the rest of the evening. And then, when many hours later the dancing and mingling finally ended, the Allfather stood up and bid the couple a most successful and fruitful marriage and thanked everybody who had attended to share in this most joyous occasion. After the king had finished speaking, the queen stood as well, took her husband’s outstretched arm, and they turned to retire. The entire hall bowed towards the departing royal couple.

I was happy that the wedding was finally was over. I was quite tired and wished to do nothing but sleep.

In my own chamber, I undressed slowly, leisurely unpinning my hair and setting the lavish gown and metal fittings carefully upon the bed. As I wondered if I would ever wear it again, there came a knocking on my door. I quickly tugged on my nightdress and opened the door.

There stood Gullhár, Málvit, and Maerrhár, no longer clothed in their wedding finery, but not in their usual dress, either, when serving under Queen Frigga during the day. They all wore cloaks over rather plain dresses. They looked perfectly normal.

“Why are you not ready?” Málvit said crossly.

I groaned. I had completely forgotten the after-party. I remembered Loki asking me if I was going. Now the handmaidens had come to collect me.

Gullhár laughed, brushing past me into my chambers. She opened my wardrobe and began rifling through it.

“Gullhár, what are you doing?”

“We’re taking you with us. The Vana has never experienced an Asgardian wedding after-party and she shall tonight,” Gullhár said playfully, throwing a sideways look at Málvit and Maerrhár.

“What is this?” Maerrhár asked.

I turned and saw she was holding my brooch—Loki’s brooch—in her fingers. I had left it out on the little table next to my bed. I only wore it on mornings that I went to Loki’s chambers and took it off when I left his rooms; it was because of this that none of the handmaidens had seen it. And by the look on Maerrhár’s face, for good reason had I hidden this from them.

Málvit took the brooch from Maerrhár and looked up at me, grinning. She knew what it was. The meaning was not meant to be hard to figure out. Loki had made sure of that.

“Did Prince Loki give this to you?” Málvit inquired.

I saw Gullhár glance over, but then turn away to resume going through my wardrobe.

“Yes,” I admitted hesitantly.

But they did not say anything, only smirked at me. They thought they knew. They thought I was Loki’s lover. It irked me that I could not show them I was not. There was nothing I could do to convince them otherwise. But I suppose it did not matter, really.

Málvit noticed my expression, put the brooch on my bedside table and said, “Stjarnavetr, I know not why you are so insistent on denying it. There is no shame in being his lover. Half of the handmaidens belong to somebody.”

My lips parted in surprise at her words. That was the last thing I had expected to come out of Málvit’s mouth.

“But I am not lying with him.” I insisted. “And I do not belong to him.”

Málvit only sighed.

Gullhár finally settled on one of my most boring gowns and I quickly dressed, trying to not think about Málvit’s comments.

“Where are we going?” I asked as we departed my chambers, throwing my cloak around my shoulders.

Gullhár said, “Out into Asgard.”

“Where, in Asgard?”

“Out. One of the taverns.”

As we walked through the palace, I kept asking questions.

“What are these parties like?”

I remembered how Loki described it. Drinking and rampant fucking.

“They are certainly quite lively. The last one, the Allfather had to have the Einherjar break up. Prince Thor and Týr got into a fight—the prince decimated two of the surrounding buildings. But Prince Thor will not have Mjölnir this time. The Allfather has forbidden him from taking the hammer out of the palace, except under special circumstances.”

“Oh,” I whispered.

She grabbed my elbow and linked arms with me. “There is no need to worry. The princes promised to behave themselves this time.”

“Who all is going to be there?”

“Many of the Aesir,” she said, pulling me along. “Njord and Skadi will be there, as well, I heard. Skadi has been very dull these past few days, despite wedding one of the most illustrious men in all of Asgard. Njord thinks the party will cheer her up.”

“Cheer her up?”

“Yes. There are some who think Skadi did not wish to wed Njord.”

“Is that why she looks so unhappy all the time?”

Gullhár shrugged.

Getting out of the palace was quite easy, much to my surprise. I wondered if we would have to leave through a main entrance, but Gullhár said we would take a servant’s exit. I saw that we were not the only ones going through the servant’s exit, either. We encountered a few of the other handmaidens and even a few servants sneaking away from their duties to attend Thor’s after-party. 

The party was being held at a very large, two-story tavern down in Asgard, far from the palace. It was nearly full by the time we arrived perhaps a half hour later. The street outside was choked with people as they milled about and I could hear the revelry inside. It was so loud. People were cheering and screaming and laughing and the heated air was heavy with the scent of alcohol.

When we first entered, I saw Thor and Baldr at the main counter, both guffawing loudly and already looking incredibly drunk. I also saw Volstagg, one of Thor’s good friends, stumbling around, with Hogun under his arm, and Sif trying to pull Hogun out of Volstagg’s drunken grasp.

I wondered where Loki was.

“Come, let us go to the back,” Maerrhár said.

We made our way through a doorway into another part of the tavern and found an empty table near the wall. I sat down heavily.

“What do we do?” I shouted, trying to be heard over the noise.

“Whatever you wish,” Málvit responded, craning her neck to observe the surrounding area. It was difficult to see anything; there were so many people standing and moving around, their combined mingling creating a dull roar in the room.

“Like what?”

“Do you drink? Do the Vanir drink?”

“Yes,” I admitted.

“Then drink!” Málvit said, standing up and disappearing into the pulsing crowd, probably in search of her Einheri lover. She had told us on the way here that he would be here tonight.

Gullhár stood up and said, “Málvit always disappears at these things. I will go ahead and get some drinks for us.”

Soon she was back with three mugs of mead. She set them on the table and I grabbed one and I took a drink. It was comparable to our own mead in Vanaheim and tasted very good. I took another draught and Gullhár laughed at me.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes,” I breathed, putting it back onto the table. “It is so sweet.”

“Then drink, Stjarnavetr! Tonight is a night for celebration!”

__

Gullhár had been right. Celebratory gatherings in Vanaheim did not compare to those of Asgard, especially when the entire focus of these types of gatherings was on getting blind drunk and, as Loki had so eloquently put it, fucking. I saw quite a few women on men’s laps, hands up skirts and down bodices, saw couples stumbling into dark corners or upstairs where there were rooms.

I sipped my own drink slowly, fully awake now for the overwhelming sounds of the festivities drowning out anything else there might have been to hear. How anybody in Asgard was sleeping through this, and how the Allfather and the queen could not hear the carousing all the way up in the palace was beyond me. But I must admit that I was enjoying myself, sitting with Gullhár and Maerrhár, just watching. They did not wish to dance or grope, unlike Málvit. They, too, liked to simply observe and gossip.

We had been sitting for perhaps an hour when Málvit came through the crowd over to us, her face and chest flushed. Her hair was in disarray and her bodice twisted out of place. I reasoned that she must have found Orn earlier and they had been at each other in a corner or room.

“The two princes, Baldr, Týr, Bragi, and Njord are having a drinking contest,” Málvit said breathlessly, sitting down heavily.

“Who will win, do you think?” Gullhár asked.

“Most definitely Prince Thor.”

“Not Týr?”

“Prince Thor won last time.”

“What about Prince Loki?” Maerrhár interjected.

“Prince Loki?” Gullhár snorted.

Laughter.

“You would be surprised,” Maerrhár said. “The prince can hold his own.”

“When has he ever had to hold his own?”

“Oh, do you not remember…”

I turned away and looked around. After a few moments, curiosity got the best of me.

“I am going to watch,” I shouted to the others. “The contest?”

The others nodded as I stood up and slowly my way through the crowd to the other side of the tavern, passing through a doorway. A long table had been laid out in the other room with perhaps two dozen mugs nearly overflowing with mead. The six men sat behind it, already having begun the contest. People were shouting and encouraging their preferred champion.

I saw Skadi, the new bride of Njord, standing off to the side, watching insipidly. She slowly turned away to get another drink, seemingly disinterested in the spectacle laid out before her.

I looked back to the table. They all had shed the outer parts of their outfits and had thrown them into the corner to allow more freedom in movement for the contest. They were all now in just their leather pants and plain undershirts.

Loki was seated between Thor, who was at the very end of the table, and Týr. He had four emptied mugs in front of him, while both Thor and Týr had five. The other three, Baldr, Bragi, and Njord, only had two or three. All the while, tavern maids kept bringing fresh mugs and setting the empty ones on the floor in front of their respective drinkers.

The men at the table focused on nothing but their drinks, only occasionally glancing up to smile at the cheers. They were all drenched in mead; they were not prudish, caring not to spill their drinks all over their fronts.

I focused mostly on Loki, who was, to my surprise, coming up fast on Týr and Thor, who were both leading.

Now Loki had eight mugs in front of him, while Thor and Týr had nine. Baldr, Bragi, and Njord were hopelessly behind with five each. I wondered, amusedly, why they had even consented to participating. They were doing horribly compared to Thor, Loki, and Týr.

I watched, transfixed, as Loki drank. I had never seen him in this state. He looked frantic, but he was smiling the whole time. I managed to catch his eye briefly and grinned at him. He nearly choked on the mead, but smiled widely at me for a second before beginning on his ninth mug.

It went on for a long while like this before somebody finally quit.

It was Bragi who went first, stumbling gracefully outside to vomit after his twelfth drink. There was laughter, then, as Njord stopped suddenly and pushed the next mug away, having downed fourteen. He bowed amiably out of the contest and went off to find Skadi, not staggering as had Bragi. Njord was a Vanr like me and we could generally hold our alcohol quite well. Though he could not hope to beat Týr or the others, who were still going strong, Njord could walk away from fourteen mugs of mead without falling on his face.

Baldr, now on his sixteenth mug, stopped, looking as if he were about to vomit. He tried to drink another mug, and got halfway, before standing up suddenly to turn around and retch onto the floor, which caused the crowd to burst into a fresh round of cheering and applause. I watched on, finding myself laughing along with the others. But not at Baldr. I wanted Loki to win. He kept looking up to find me in the crowd and every time our eyes met, I smiled encouragingly at him.

Týr was still only ahead of Loki by one, with nineteen. Thor had slowed down and was last, with seventeen. He was getting red in the face, appalled that he might actually get bested by his little brother in a drinking contest.

Týr took a long break, perhaps ten seconds, and yet Loki barreled on. And then Thor yelled something in anger. He threw his mug, still half-full, down, and it smashed on the floor. 

“Damn it all!” he shouted, rising unsteadily to his feet and swaying for a moment. He stalked off through the crowd, parting them like a wave. I was not surprised that Thor had not finished the contest. To be quite honest, he probably would have won, but he had drunk probably half a dozen mugs before the contest had even begun.

After Thor had gone, the crowd surged forward.

Týr looked at Loki irritably out of the corner of his eye. He could not believe that Loki was actually keeping up with him and overcoming him. They both now had twenty, and how their stomachs did not burst was beyond me. I had done my own drinking in Vanaheim, but never anything close to this. Just looking at the abundance of empty mugs in front of them made me feel sick.

It was when they both began on their twenty-first mugs that everybody knew. This was it, this was the end.

Loki stopped briefly to breathe hard, looking down at the table. Týr turned to look at Loki, mug still to his lips. He raised his eyebrows. Loki took a deep breath and began drinking again. But then he choked and spit the mead out. He curled his lips in disgust, looking at Týr, who stopped drinking long enough to pant, “Done yet, princeling?”

Loki bared his teeth in anger. He lifted the mug back up to his face and continued to drink. I was quite impressed, but also irked. I wondered, briefly, what state Loki would be in for our seidr lesson in the morning, for I was not going to cancel it because he had gotten blind drunk the night before.

Loki could not continue. He faltered again and then stopped. He set the mug down and pushed himself violently away from the table. Týr raised his other arm in premature victory and even without a hand there, everybody knew his meaning. Finally finished his mug and slammed it down on the table and stood up victoriously, having downed twenty-one, while Loki had only fully finished twenty.

“Maybe next time, princeling,” Týr said drunkenly, clapping an aggravated Loki on the shoulder. Loki brushed past Týr and nearly tripped over a chair. The crowd laughed, but laughed even harder when Týr suddenly blacked out and fell forward into the table. Mugs rolled off of the table and smashed onto the floor and shattered. Loki drunkenly fell back against the wall and slid downwards as a gaggle of exasperated tavern maids rushed forward to clear the glass.

I made my way over to Loki, weaving through the shifting crowd, and squatted next to him. Many of the people had begun to migrate to the next room, leaving Týr passed out on the table, where the floor was not so slippery and dusted with glass.

I lifted a piece of Loki’s hair out of his face, soaked in mead. He was sweating mightily.

“Are you drunk yet?” I inquired, holding back a laugh.

Loki rolled his head towards me and tried to focus on my eyes. “Stjarna,” he said. He blinked slowly.

I gave a small laugh and motioned towards the ruins of the drinking contest. “You almost won. Unfortunately you might die.”

“No, no,” he said dreamily, his words slurred. “That was nothing…” He waved his hand towards me. I could not tell if he were dismissing my statement or trying to grab my shoulder.

“Would you like to stand?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.

“Yes, please,” he mumbled. I took his hand and stood up. It was too fast and he fell forward into me. I quickly found a chair for him and he only sat there, staring. His eyes wandered lazily over to where Týr was still passed out on the table, and where the tavern maids were trying frantically to clean up the mess. And then he looked up at me.

He smiled lethargically. “Did you see me?”

I sat next to him. “I did. Most impressive.”

I sat with him a moment longer, looking at him. He was still breathing hard. How there was any room in his body for air, when it was so filled with mead, was beyond me. He looked at me again and blinked. I burst into laughter.

“What is it?” he asked me, squinting.

“You do realize, Your Highness, that this does not excuse you from our lesson tomorrow morning?”

He only laughed. He began sliding sideways in his chair, but I grabbed his arm and propped him back up. I never thought I would have seen Loki in such a state.

“Loki!”

I looked over and saw Thor coming towards us. I was amazed that he was not stumbling around, or even passed out like Týr. Thor had drunk more this night than even Loki, but he could obviously handle his alcohol much better than his little brother. But then again, Thor always drank more than Loki and more than likely had a higher tolerance for it.

“Loki, come here,” Thor said. He picked Loki up under the arms and supported him on his shoulder. Thor looked at me, grinning. His words were slurred as well. “Please forgive me, Lady Vana, but I must borrow my brother.”

“What the fuck do you want?” Loki grumbled, turning to press his forehead into Thor’s shoulder. He groaned.

“You’re the trickster, aren’t you? We need Loki the fool.”

He began to walk, leading Loki slowly beside him. Thor took him into the other room where Gullhár and the others had our table. I followed them, for there was nothing of interest in this room now except for Týr passed out on the table and the few small groups of people that had stayed behind to converse.

This room was nearly full, even more choked with people than it had been when we had first arrived. I saw that there was a clearing in the middle and Bragi stood there drunkenly, telling obscene jokes.

I quickly found Málvit near one of the windows and pushed my way through the throng to get to her.

“What is going on?” I asked.

I saw Thor put Loki in a chair by one of the walls, trying to perk him up.

“Another contest, of sorts,” Málvit answered. “Somebody pointed out that Skadi has not laughed or smiled all evening and so they’re trying to get her to laugh.”

My eyes found Skadi, seated alone next to a table. She was watching Bragi with disinterest, drinking from a half-full mug of mead.

“Has she not laughed yet?”

“No. They keep telling jokes, but she will not laugh.”

“Oh, that must be why Prince Thor brought Prince Loki.”

Málvit nodded. “Prince Loki will do anything for a laugh. Especially when he’s blind drunk.”

I watched as Bragi became more and more incensed, each joke eliciting roaring laughter from the crowd, but not even a hint of a smile from Skadi, even though she was clearly paying attention to him. Finally, he threw his hands up and wobbled over to a chair to sit down.

“It is useless,” he complained.

Skadi blinked slowly and turned her head, as if waiting for the next act.

“Loki, go on! It’s your turn!” I heard somebody shout. It was Baldr, red in the face and buzzing from the mead. He was sitting at a table against the wall, his arms around two women.

Thor, having decided that the chair would do Loki no good, had him now propped up against the wall.

“Go on for what?” Loki said, breathing hard. He closed his eyes tightly and ran his hand over his face.

“Oy, Bragi!” Baldr shouted. “There’s that pen of goats outside, across the street. Do you remember?”

“Yes,” Bragi said, sitting up.

“Go get one of those goats. And a rope! Get a rope, too!” Baldr shouted. He nearly choked he was laughing so hard.

“What for?” Bragi said as he stood up, already headed towards the door.

“Just do it!” Baldr snapped.

I turned my gaze back to Loki, who still stood against the wall, trying to not fall down.

Bragi returned a short time later, leading a goat into the room by a thin rope. I vaguely remembered there having been a small pen of goats connected to the building across the street from the tavern when we first passed by. Bragi must have taken one from the pen and brought the poor thing into the tavern. I wondered what the owner of the goats would have to say about that, and the owner of the tavern, for that matter. But Thor had probably paid both of them off for this night, to make up for the noise and any potential damages.

“What now?” Bragi asked, staring at Baldr.

“Loki, tie yourself to the goat,” Baldr shouted.

The room erupted into laughter.

“What? What the fuck for?” Loki said, nearly incomprehensibly. He blinked hard.

Baldr suddenly turned to look at Skadi, who was still sitting by herself, tapping her fingers on her drink. “Njord’s bride hasn’t smiled once this evening. Do us all a favor, Loki, and make her smile.”

Loki snorted, but slowly rose up and stumbled over to Skadi. He stood in front of her, swaying. “What would you have me do, my dear? How may I most amuse you this night?”

Skadi rolled her eyes, enveloped in Loki’s surely overpowering stink. He was practically soaked with mead.

“You want me to do it?” Loki asked intensely, leaning forward.

Skadi leaned back, disgusted.

“Come, Loki!” shouted Baldr, laughing loudly. Cheers from the others.

Loki turned around and proclaimed, “I will make Skadi laugh.”

He went to the center of the room, where Bragi stood alone with the nervous-looking goat. He fumbled with the laces at the top of his pants for a moment, then drunkenly rolled his head forward and promptly yanked his pants down to his ankles. He stood back up, unabashed, hips pushed forward. His long shirt only covered half of his exposed manhood and many of the women in the room whistled or shouted their approval. I thought, with some distaste, that most of them had probably seen Loki more intimately than this. Most of the men laughed. But Loki laughed, too, and kicked his pants off of his feet.

He took a step towards the goat. Bragi sniggered foolishly as he handed the rope to Loki.

Málvit next to me was laughing, but I watched this undignified display now with disgust. Whatever drove him to do this? Was this Asgardian amusement? I felt both repugnance and embarrassment for Loki.

Loki bent down and untied the thin rope from the goat’s neck, only to retie that end to the goat’s beard. The goat tried to jerk away, but Bragi held it tightly. Loki straightened and lifted his shirt up, revealing more of his pale stomach, distended from the massive amount of mead he had drank earlier, and reached beneath his manhood. The tavern erupted in laughter and clapping as he gingerly tied the rope around his testicles, teeth bared in either concentration or discomfort. Once it was done, he threw his hands up.

Bragi let the goat go and it stood there for a moment, as if not sure of what to do. But then he pinched it on its behind. The goat wrenched forward and away from Bragi, pulling the rope taut.

Loki cried out and doubled over, stumbling forward, and the room trembled with hysterics. Loki reached out to steady himself, but his hand found only the backside of the goat. The goat tugged sideways now and Loki shouted “Fuck!” and nearly fell to his knees.

And Skadi only sat there, watching jadedly. It looked as if she wished to be gone from here. I could see why she was not amused. The youngest prince of Asgard stood before her half-naked and drunk beyond measure, being tugged this way and that by a goat.

Loki kept yelping, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He was trying not to fall down, but was having a difficult time.

Abruptly, the goat, scared witless from the roar of the crowd, ran forward and yanked Loki along with it. He stumbled forward, shrieking, and tripped over the goat with a loud cry. Loki turned in the air and fell back onto Skadi’s lap, his back pressed to her front. Skadi threw her hands up and dropped the mug she had been holding. It shattered on the floor.

Loki let his head roll back and pressed his cheek against hers. “Do I amuse you, my lady?” he slurred. He grinned and then slid down off of her and fell onto the floor, laughing all the while. He rolled over onto his back, threw his arms out onto the floor, gave a great sigh, and closed his eyes. The poor goat stood still next to Loki, as if it was not sure what to do next. It leaned down and sniffed at his face.

And then Skadi giggled. Only a moment later, she threw her head back and screamed with laughter, doubling over in her chair and gripping her stomach as she struggled for breath.

But I did not laugh. I stared at Loki, who was now panting, on the floor. I turned and made my way through the crowd and back to the table where Gullhár and the others had been seated. They were all gone, so I sat by myself, feeling ill for Loki. That the prince of Asgard should behave in such a way was appalling.

It must have been an hour—I could be very patient, sitting still—before the others came back.

“Did you see Prince Loki?” Maerrhár asked, her face flushed.

“Unfortunately,” I said dryly.

“Well, he is looking for you,” Gullhár added.

“What?”

Just as I spoke, I heard, “Stjarna!” from across the room.

I turned and saw Loki stumbling towards us, pushing people out of the way. As he went by, people pointed and laughed. He was clothed now in his pants and green shirt. Somebody must have helped him dress; I could not imagine him being coordinated enough to do it himself.

He came up to the table and supported himself on it while looking at me. “Stjarna! Did you see?” he said excitedly.

“I saw you. And the goat,” I replied blandly.

Loki burst into laughter and bent forwards, his breath enveloping me. I leaned back, but he kept coming until he was nearly straddling me, his hands curled on the chair on either side of my hips.

“Loki,” I warned, putting my hand on his chest.

“Come along,” he urged, standing back up and pulling at my arm. I slid off of the chair at his insistent tugging and he wrapped his arms around me.

“What are you doing?” I asked crossly, trying to disentangle myself from him.

“There are some rooms upstairs,” he murmured drunkenly, leaning into me and pressing his lips against my ear as he tried to hold himself up.

“What?”

“I want to fuck you, Stjarna.”

My eyes widened in shock as I felt his hands slide down my back and curve under my buttocks. I grabbed his hands before they could go down any farther. I felt this angry heat flare in my chest, but also this traitorous heat between my thighs at his touch. But I was also burning with embarrassment and that overshadowed everything else. 

I quickly pushed Loki away, incredibly conscious of the stares of the girls and others who happened to be standing nearby, watching the prince’s drunken display. I gritted my teeth in irritation. 

Loki staggered backwards and looked at me, his eyes hazy.

“Come, Stjarna.” He tugged at my sleeve.

“Loki!” I said harshly, prying his fingers off of my arm. “Enough! You are drunk and making a fool of yourself. Leave me be.”

I was wondering, also, how he would even be able to perform the act, since he had just had a goat tied to his balls.

“Alright, Stjarna,” he laughed merrily, somewhat to my surprise, releasing me. “I can wait. I’ll have my face between those pretty thighs soon enough.”

He was shouting to be heard over the carousing and nearly everybody around us heard his libidinous exclamation. Before I could react, he wrapped his arm around the back of my head and kissed me hard, thrusting his tongue between my teeth and raking it through every bit of my mouth. I nearly squirmed in his arms and finally was able to push him away; when he pulled back, I saw that he had a stupid grin plastered across his face.

I stared at him, mouth hanging open in astonishment.

He turned drunkenly on his heel and began stumbling away, shouting, “Where is Thor?”

Horrified, I looked over. The other handmaidens were staring at me, their expressions ranging from surprise to amusement. I closed my eyes slowly, feeling the anger rising. That he should humiliate me like this and speak to me like that, drunk or not.

I spent the rest of the night, or rather, the morning, seething. The others could see my anger, and did not speak to me. I would have gone back to the palace immediately after Loki kissed me, but I did not know the way, and so I had to wait until Málvit was too drunk to form a coherent sentence and Gullhár finally decided it was time to return to the palace.


	10. Part I - Chapter 10

Stjarnavetr

I made my way determinedly to Loki’s chambers the next morning, hoping he was sober enough—which I expected him to be, as Aesir could process alcohol just as well as they could handle it—to comprehend my displeasure with him. I had been irate upon waking that morning and made even more irritable at having only gotten a few hours of sleep.

I clenched my fists just thinking about it as I walked, still hearing him say that to me, hearing him shout to half the tavern in his drunkenness that soon he would have his face between my legs. Feeling his lips on mine, his tongue in my mouth, and how I had nearly choked on the taste, the stink, of the mead he had nearly drowned himself in.

He had humiliated not only me, but himself as well, what with that vulgar display with the goat. But he was shameless. If he were even able to remember his antics of the previous night, I doubt he would have been humiliated.

Upon reaching Loki’s chambers, I opened the door without hesitation and stepped inside.

I knew he was more than likely still asleep, but after last night I was not feeling particularly gracious and would not wait for him to roll out of bed.

I stared at the open doorway of his bedchamber and took a little breath before I went to stand in it. I had never been in Loki’s bedchamber before—only caught fleeting glimpses through the door—and took a moment to look at it before I woke him.

Loki’s bedchamber much resembled his main room. There was a table, albeit smaller than the other one, and a couple of chairs. There was a couch, similar to the one in his other room, against the wall, and two additional chairs before the fireplace. I noticed another doorway which undoubtedly led to his bath chamber. Across the room there was an open doorway that led out to the balcony, which apparently had two doors connected to it.

The main difference here, of course, was his bed; it was quite clearly the centerpiece of the room, large and opulent and decked completely in deep, bloody crimson. Loki lay among the disheveled sheets, facedown, completely naked and spread-eagled. I could hear his little snores and see the gentle rise and fall of his bare back. I stared at him a moment before turning and seating myself at his table, staring at his pale form among the dark red drapery of his bed. I tapped my fingers rapidly on the tabletop, thinking on what to do.

Finally, I said, “Loki.”

He did not stir.

“Loki.”

Nothing.

“Loki!”

Loki jerked on the bed and groaned. He turned his head to the side, ran his hand drowsily over his eyes and, after a long moment, rolled onto his back and threw his arm over his face. He did not move again.

“Loki,” I snapped impatiently.

He flinched and raised his arm, realizing he was not alone in his room. He sat up very slowly, squinting at me briefly before realizing his position.

“Dear gods,” he cried, reaching to throw the covers over his nakedness. “What are you doing here?”

“Seidr,” I said flatly.

“Seidr?” he snarled, closing his eyes and falling back with a bounce onto the bed. “I cannot perform any fucking seidr today. Do you see the state I am in?”

“I did not force you to drink twenty mugs of mead,” I said nonchalantly, picking at a thread on my sleeve.

He turned onto his stomach with a groan and buried his face in a pillow, ignoring me. In truth, I was a little surprised he was not angry I had come into his bedchamber.

“Are you sore?” I inquired. Despite my discontent, I was admittedly curious as to his physical state.

He grunted into the pillow by way of response.

I took that as a yes.

Even though I had been disgusted with Loki’s little show the night before, I found myself gazing at him in amusement, of all things.

“Loki,” I said.

He did not reply.

“Loki. I made a promise to the queen—”

Loki snorted and turned his face so I could hear his words. “Yes, yes, I know. You’ve expressed that dozens of times before, I hardly need to hear it again. And I care not of any damned promises to the queen. I cannot think and I cannot fucking stand properly.”

“Well, you should not have tied yourself to a goat’s beard,” I said unsympathetically.

Loki cursed under his breath and viciously threw the covers off. He staggered out of the bed, apparently having decided he no longer cared if I saw him naked. He stood there, half-turned away from me, swaying, his eyes scanning the floor for his discarded clothes. I saw that they were on the other side of his bed on the floor, though I did not say anything.

I only stared.

I had never seen Loki fully naked, as I had not bothered to crane my neck to see his state of undress the night before, having been disgusted at the sordidness of it all. But I could not help myself now, even with my having come here angry at him.

My eyes roved, almost with wild abandon, from the top of his head to his toes, my gaze tracing every straight line, every curve of his lean body, over the sinewy contours of the muscles in his back, and down to the push of his pelvic bones through his pale skin. I could see his posture so well now, not obstructed by the heavy leather outfits he often wore. He stood with his hips pushed slightly forward, creating an inward curve in his lower back. There was some concealed hidden strength there, I knew, in those muscles beneath the pallid complexion and slender figure.

As he turned, I could not help but to admire his flat stomach, surprisingly no longer swollen from the mead the night before; and then, seemingly without inhibition, my gaze wandered down further to the plunge of the lines of his narrow hips, lingering on the dark whorl of hair at his groin.

After a moment, I slowly dragged my gaze upwards and saw then, with expressionless horror, that I was looking directly into Loki’s eyes. He was staring at me, staring at him.

I did not think; I merely turned my head down and to the side, eyes wide. I could feel the heat rise in my face. All thoughts of reprimanding Loki for his actions towards me the night before were gone from my head and now replaced with only paralyzing mortification.

I heard him walking towards me, his bare feet padding on the stone floor. He stopped before me, leaned down, and reached out. I felt his fingers on my chin and he forced me to look at him. He was close—so unbearably close. I wondered if he could hear my heart, beating as it was in my chest.

Loki smiled toothlessly. I blinked and looked away, anywhere but his eyes. I tried to focus on one of the tapestries hanging on the wall near his bed.

“What, can you not look at me now?” he asked, tilting his head, still smiling.

My eyes flickered to his, wide with humiliation. The words, whatever they might have been, died in my throat. I could not have formed a coherent sentence even if I wanted to. I only stared at him, unable to remember the last time I had been so discomfited. Not even last night. I would rather have had him kiss me again in front of half the tavern, than to have caught me staring at him as I had been.

He cocked an eyebrow at my silence, his smile widening until I could see his teeth behind his lips, and his tongue pressed against the back of them.

“Do you like what you see, Stjarna?” he asked me, his voice low.

My lips parted in surprise at his depravity, though I was no stranger to his flagrant lack of personal boundaries.

I could not think of what to say. But what could I possibly say to remedy this situation? To end it? Gods, I wanted to be gone from here. Anywhere but here.

When I still was silent, simply staring at him, Loki repeated, “Do you like what you see?”

He was either blithely unaware of my extreme discomfort, or completely aware of it and delighting in it. I suspected the latter.

“Loki,” I said softly, finally finding my voice, however small and pathetic it was. “Stop.”

He cocked an eyebrow, still grinning, but released my chin and took a step back. I kept my eyes trained on his face. I feared allowing them to stray.

Loki sighed dramatically. “If only you looked at me like that all the time.”

“Like what?” I asked sharply, gaining full use of my tongue again.

“So… hungrily,” he said, his smile salacious.

I gaped at him. I most certainly not had been looking at him “hungrily.”

“Have you no decency, Loki?” I snapped.

“Decency?” Loki burst into laughter. “I was not the one admiring my naked body.”

My face burned at his comment, at the mortifying truth of it.

“Think not that I do not see the way you look at me,” he said smugly, looking down at me. “The way your eyes linger. Would you have me go naked all the time, Stjarna?”

“I would rather you did not,” I answered curtly. When he was silent, only smiling at me, I said uncomfortably, “Are you not going to bathe? You reek of mead. I can smell you from here.”

“Ah, yes,” Loki acquiesced. “What a fantastic idea. Would you like to join me?”

“I most certainly would not,” I replied indignantly.

He leaned down, his face inches from mine, and purred, “I’ll leave the door open if you change your mind.”

Loki drew himself up, grinning at my distress. He turned on his heel and stumbled sideways, apparently not yet fully in control of himself. But he only let out a little laugh before continuing on to his bath chamber. Right before he entered, he turned and leaned against the door and said, “Don’t go anywhere, Stjarna.”

Once he had gone in, I let out a shaky breath and put my face in my hands. My face was still burning. I am sure it was red, too. That I had seen him naked, and he had caught me staring at him, had sent me into quite a state.

When I heard running water in the other room, I stood up slowly and took a deep breath. I did not want to be here while he was bathing. With the door open. Gods, he was incorrigible. I decided that his balcony was the safest place to be at the moment. It was too odd being in here. I kept my eyes fixed ahead as I passed his bedchamber, not wanting to give him another opportunity to croon that I had been trying to peek, or some other nonsense.

I pressed myself forward against the railing once outside, trying to relax. I doubted we would be performing any seidr today. I did not think I could spend another few hours here with him. I would not be able to focus; my nerves were fairly well racked at this point.

After a while, I heard Loki rummaging through his wardrobe, which was situated near to his bed. I took a deep breath, bracing myself to see him again after that hideously embarrassing incident.

“Enjoying the view?”

I turned around.

Loki stood in the open doorway, looking at me. He was barefoot and wore only dark brown leather pants and a green tunic. His damp hair was combed back, which lent him some semblance of control. I much preferred this compared to the pathetic mess he had been the night before. Hopefully the bath had helped to clear his head of any fogginess, as well.

He walked over and stood next to me, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the stone railing.

“Loki, I would speak with you,” I said, before he could start us off on some irrelevant topic.

He inclined his head slightly, encouraging me to speak.

“Are you still… drunk?” I asked.

“I think I am capable enough to hold a serious conversation,” he replied, a smile playing at the edge of his lips.

I very much doubted that, but I continued anyway.

“Good. It is about last night. I—”

“Did I kiss you last night?” he asked immediately, cutting me off.

I raised my eyebrows. “Yes.”

He closed his eyes slowly and exhaled sharply. “Gods, I thought I dreamt that. Did I happen to mention anything about… your thighs?”

I almost smiled, wondering where my anger had gone. “Yes.”

Loki leaned down, put his face in his hands, and groaned. He shook his head before drawing himself up. “You must forgive me for that, Stjarna. I was… not myself.”

I gave him a half-smile. “At least you offered to have me in a room—with a bed—and not a corner, as so many others were doing.”

After the words had left my mouth, I paused, amazed at my own nonchalance. I had come here this morning angry, determined to let him know he was a fool and a rogue and he should be ashamed of himself. But now I was almost laughing about it. I was not feeling so incensed now that he had expressed remorse for his actions the night previous. It made me feel a little better.

Loki snorted, not looking at me. He closed his eyes and shook his head.

“I hope to the gods that Frigga does not find out.”

“That her youngest son tied a goat to his balls?” I snickered.

Loki glared at me.

“You saw that?” he asked quietly. He obviously did not remember staggering up to me afterwards and asking if I had seen him tie himself to the goat.

“Half of Asgard saw it, Loki. I suspect your mother will never find out, though. Who would be brave enough to tell her?” I bit my lip, trying to contain my laughter.

Loki scowled at me, obviously not as amused as I was.

After a short silence, he said suddenly, trying to change the subject, “You looked very beautiful yesterday.”

“Did I?” I said calmly, though I felt my heart speed up.

“You looked as if you were going to war.”

I laughed, then, remembering the decorative breastplates the handmaidens had worn. “Yes, gowns are the most practical dress for war, don’t you think? Unfortunately, we’d have nowhere to put our swords.”

“I can think of a place,” Loki said, smirking. He chuckled at my expression, but I suppose I should have known better than to leave such a question open to him. Before I could respond, he said in mock innocence, “Strapped to your leg, of course.”

I shook my head, squinting at him.

After a long silence, Loki mused, more to himself than me, “I have always liked the way Frigga dressed her women.”

I did not reply to that. He looked at me, then realizing what he had said.

“I mean—”

“I know what you meant,” I said, looking away. I did not say it in a condescending way.

He was quiet for a moment before turning around to lean back against the railing. “Do you like it here, Stjarna?”

“What?”

“Do you like it here in Asgard?”

“I suppose,” I said. That was an odd question. I had been here nearly two years and he was just now asking me if I liked it here?

“What do you like about it?”

“The people,” I said, after a moment of thought.

“The people?” He raised his eyebrows at me.

“They are not so… rigid.”

He laughed at that. “I thought we Asgardians were supposed to be… severe… compared to you Vanir.”

“That is what I thought, too.”

Loki laughed. “We do have a lot of sex, do we not?”

Though I did not reply, I smiled and bit back laughter.

He looked at me for a long time. And then, “So you’ve not had anybody yet?”

I felt exasperation as soon as the words were out of his mouth. How was it that all of our conversations ended up here? Yet, I had grown used to his ways. The way he spoke so languidly about sex. His words, however surprising or unseemly, no longer fazed me.

“No,” I said shortly.

But he already knew that. I had told him that night when we had eaten together, when he had asked me if I had ever had another other than Valdrlund.

“Is that why you’re so cross all the time?” he inquired, cocking his head.

“Perhaps I am so cross all the time because of you,” I responded, somewhat tersely. “You can do that to a person.”

Loki smiled. And then he was serious again. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why have you not had someone? You’ve been in Asgard nearly two years. I am sure there are plenty who would have you.”

Including me, I could practically hear him thinking.

I stared at him for a long time and he stared unabashedly back, trying to fight back a smile. I finally shook my head, looking down. Loki moved closer to me. I turned to him and took a step back.

“Is there a reason you will not lie with another?” he asked.

My lips parted in surprise, though by his expression it was obvious he knew the answer. “No.”

Any fool would have known that I was lying.

He said as much.

My heart was beating so hard now that it was a wonder he could not hear it.

“Is there a problem?” he questioned, reaching out to take my hand. I flinched when he touched me, but he held my hand firmly and turned it over. I watched him run his fingers over my palm, gently tracing the lines there, and brush his thumb over my wrist under the fabric of my sleeve. His touch sent little chills up my arms and through my body, which settled in the pit of my stomach.

“Do you assume there is a problem because I will not lie with you?” I asked softly, watching the graceful movement of his long, slender fingers.

He looked up at me.

Yes. That was it. All the women he took fell so easily into his bed. Of course he assumed there was a problem when I did not. And suddenly, I felt shame just thinking of it, thinking back to when he had kissed me after our supper, how easily, how vehemently, I had kissed him back. Even while knowing, seeing, how many women he took, I had returned his affections. How foolish could one be?

“They fawn over you, don’t you see?” I whispered, swallowing. “Gullhyrndr, they call you. I… I would not be as them.”

“What?” he asked, letting go of my hand. I brought my arms up and folded them over my chest.

“I would not be as they are, Loki,” I said, louder. I hoped he believed me. It was what I had always told him. Better he think that I would not deign to become his mistress for fear of my reputation, or whatever was left of it, than he know of my ruined state and those bloody days before Asgard.

“As they are?”

“Yes! As they are. The others. All of those… women. I know, Loki. I see. A different one every week, at least, is it not?”

I stopped talking, then. No matter what I thought, or where I thought I stood in Loki’s affections, he was still a prince of Asgard and I simply a handmaiden to the queen. I could not speak to him like this. I remembered how visceral his reaction had been last time and, in truth, I should not have been here, talking to him of this. My duty was to teach him seidr, not to coax him out of his hangovers and to have revealing chats about our sexuality on his balcony.

I tightened my arms, expecting some sort of angry rebuff.

But Loki merely looked at me.

Finally, “Is that it?”

“What?” I asked hesitantly. I could not read his expression.

“Is that it? That is why you will not lie with me? Because of the others?”

I closed my eyes, wary and exasperated. “You’re so like him,” I whispered.

“What?” Loki said sharply.

I opened my eyes. His eyes were hard, his lips set in a thin line.

“What did you say?” he demanded.

“You—you’re just like him,” I answered, more quietly, realizing now that I should have just kept my mouth shut.

“Like who?”

I squared my jaw and looked up at him. “Like Valdrlund.”

Yes, just like Valdrlund… always only concerned for one thing, seemingly.

“Your old lover?” he breathed, stunned.

I held his gaze. “Yes.”

“I am most displeased to be compared to him,” he finally remarked. I could tell he was biting back his annoyance.

“It is the truth.”

“If I’m not mistaken,” Loki said, his voice low with irritation, “Valdrlund beat you, did he not?”

My mouth fell open in surprise. He went on, ignoring my reaction.

“He hurt you, and controlled you, and took you even if you did not want it, and allowed your exile from Vanaheim? And something else, there was something else, before you came here…”

It felt as if my blood had turned to ice. I had never told him—or anybody here, for that matter—of those things. Least of all when Valdrlund had taken me against my will. I felt ill. How did he know these things?

Loki reached out and took my hand in his, twining our fingers together. I stiffened when he touched me, but he did not act as if he noticed. “And,” he finally continued, voice quieter but no less intense, “did you not tell me that he never bothered to bring you with him to culmination?”

I had not in fact told him, when he had asked me over our dinner that night. But he had gleaned the truth from me, something he was remarkably adept at, due to my angry silence and indignation.

Loki brought my hand up to his mouth and kissed my fingertips, sending frantic little jolts through me. I stared at him, at his lips on my fingers, my body rigid.

“And yet you compare me to him, when you know nothing of me? When you know not—” he turned my arm over and pushed my sleeve up so he could kiss the inside of my wrist, never breaking eye contact “—of how painfully assiduous, how agonizingly attentive, I can be?”

Slowly, he released my arm. I quickly pulled it to my chest, not knowing what to say or what to do.

“You speak of things, Stjarna, of which you know nothing.”

As Loki took a step towards me, I took a faltering step backwards. I felt the stone railing behind me, pressing hard into my back. Loki stopped then, mere inches from me. He leaned forward and put his hands on either side of me on the railing, trapping me. He inclined his head towards me.

My eyes were wide and I was breathing hard. Gods, how did I find myself in these situations with him? How did it always come to this? And how was it that I was not pushing him away? Why did I never push him away?

“Why do you not have another taste, Stjarna? You seemed to like it so well last time,” he murmured, lowering his face to my upturned one. Just as he pressed his body into mine, pinning me against the railing, our lips met.

I closed my eyes, my body immediately becoming pliant against his. He raised one of his arms and spread his fingers around the side of my neck, pressing his thumb under my jaw to raise my head to more easily meet his kiss. I realized then, with a sense of dread, that I very much enjoyed kissing him, despite everything.

I felt the tip of his tongue lightly probe for entrance and I opened my own lips without hesitation. Loki slowly ran his tongue through my mouth, as if savoring the taste of me. I responded to him, attempting to mirror his movements, taking as much of him into my mouth as possible. He still tasted of mead, but it did not disgust me now. I rather liked it.

Suddenly, I felt the fingertips of his other hand on the column of my exposed throat, trailing down, brushing over the hollow between my collarbones, and lower, across the skin of my chest. I brought my hands up and caught his fingers before he could go any lower, but did not try to pull away from him, or otherwise stop him. I merely held his hand there, still accepting his tongue into my mouth, still relishing his closeness and the hardness of his body against mine. I could feel my own body responding to this intimacy and, almost in shameless anticipation, waited to feel his arousal against me.

Loki pulled his face away, keeping his tongue in contact with mine as long as possible before he curled it back into his mouth with a smile. He twined his fingers with mine, still resting on my chest.

Languidly, I opened my eyes and licked my lips, him having left the faint taste of mead upon them, and thinking of how I had come this morning angry and then I had seen him naked and now we were on his balcony kissing. I knew I should not have been doing it, with what he was, and with what I was, but I did so like it.

“Would you tell me?” Loki whispered then, bringing me out of my little reverie.

“What?” I breathed, eyes wide. My lips were still tingling.

“Tell me what happened,” he said quietly.

I furrowed my brows. “What are you—”

“Vanaheim.”

“Why do you need to know?” I asked, the heat of the moment suddenly gone. My stomach twisted at the very mention of Vanaheim. He had not spoken of Vanaheim, inquiring about my exile, in so long. I had been grateful for that. He knew how I hated when he spoke of it.

“You look so mournful all the time, Stjarna,” he observed, ignoring my tone. “I would know what happened.”

I scoffed. “It is nothing of importance to you, Loki—”

“I would know, still,” he pressed. “I know you were in and out of the healing room for weeks before—”

“How do you know that?” I demanded, cutting him off.

Loki wisely noticed my sudden change in demeanor. He let his fingers slide from my neck and I abruptly let go of his hand. He stepped back, watching me warily as I straightened and stared at him.

Loki could not know that. It was just Queen Frigga, and the healers, all supposedly sworn to secrecy, who knew what had been done to me in Vanaheim. And as I felt the anger rising, that Loki should even bring this up, dare to intrude into my past like this, I felt sick with fear that he might know. How did he know?

“Ah.” I smiled, any desire I may have been feeling before suddenly dissipated. “Did you fuck one of the healers, Loki? Did she tell you all about the Vana whore come to Asgard?”

Loki’s eyes widened. He had never heard me speak so incongruously before—especially to him. I stopped, surprised at my own words. But before he could react, and before I realized what I was doing, I put my palms on his chest, for he was still standing quite close to me, and shoved him away. He stumbled backwards, shock written on his face.

I turned from him, furious, and went back into his chambers, straight for his door. Gods, I could not remember the last time I had been this angry. Let me make it to the door; do not let him come after me. I did not want to look at him, let him see the tears as they came.

“Stjarna,” he snapped. I could hear him coming in after me.

“Do not speak to me!” I exclaimed.

“Listen to me!” he said brutally, grabbing my arm and yanking me back. I cried out and he spun me around, hands digging into my upper arms. “It was Frigga!”

I struggled against him and shoved him away. “Frigga?”

“I am no fool, Stjarna, despite what you might think,” he said viciously. “You think I did not know what she wanted for me when you first came here? You think I did not realize what she’d planned for us? Do you think me stupid? She dangled you in front of me like a sweetmeat!”

Loki’s words cut me to the bone. How incredibly low I felt now, being compared to a sweetmeat, presented by Queen Frigga to Loki on a plate for his viewing pleasure, to be plucked and devoured whenever he felt so inclined.

And yet, he did not know, I realized then. He only knew I had been in and out of the healing rooms, not the reason for my being there. I felt relief wash through me, even as I wondered why the queen had told him about my visits to Eir. I remembered begging her that this stay between us, remembered her assuring me it would, for I had wanted to begin anew here, to put Vanaheim and its horrors behind me. And even in light of her scheming so far, it was difficult for me to imagine why the queen had broken my trust like that to Loki.

Before I could demand an answer, he said in frustration, “Gods, she knows. She always knows.” He raked his fingers through his damp hair, mussing it.

“Knows what?” I spat.

“Everything. She knows everything! She knew that I would want you—”

“How could she not know that?” I said bitterly. Though now I was assuaged of my fears, I was still irate. “You’ll fuck anything that moves! She could have appointed a horse as your seidr tutor and you would have been on your knees trying to—”

He turned on me, his face a mask of rage. Just his expression caused the words to die in my throat, and I was quiet. I swallowed hard, watching him, my anger suddenly cooled.

“So what was it all for?” I finally asked, my voice a pathetic fraction of what it had been. He was pacing furiously now, not looking at me.

“What was what all for?” he barked.

“The walks and the gifts… what was it all for? The one end goal, no? Spread my legs for you, and then what?”

He pursed his lips and paused in his pacing.

“No.”

It was all he said.

“Then what am I supposed to think, Loki?” My voice was quiet. All the fight had gone out of me. I only felt drained now. I hated confrontation. I had always hated it. When Valdrlund became angry, whether it was at me or not, I would try my best to calm him. I had hated it when he was angry and I hated it now when Loki was upset.

And watching Loki in front of me, I hated myself. I hated myself for wanting him. I knew what he was, how he was. I knew he would be rid of me just as quickly as the others if I were to give in to him. I would be only another notch on his headboard, no matter his assurances to me.

“I’ve never asked another to be my mistress, Stjarna.” His voice was no longer edged with ire, and quieter now to match my own weary tone. He ran his hand over his face, as if tired. “I can hardly imagine having one. They’re so much trouble. I’ve only had to see the others, Týr and Baldr… even Thor, at times… but you, Stjarna… I would have you—”

“But I would not have you!” I shouted, cutting him off.

Loki raised his eyebrows at my outburst.

“I cannot have you,” I said, my voice softer now.

“Cannot?” He furrowed his brows slightly.

“I would not have you,” I answered firmly. “I will not.”

“But you want me,” he said matter-of-factly. He came towards me and, before I could pull away, reached out and dragged me into an embrace.

“Loki, stop,” I warned, putting my hands on his chest.

“Why do you deny yourself, Stjarna? Just let go,” he whispered, right before he went to kiss me.

I turned my face, my body unyielding in his arms. His lips met instead with my jaw. I turned back to him when he pulled his face back, seeing the barely disguised irritation in his expression. He released me and I took a step back. Had he thought that I would simply melt into his arms again?

“Play your part, then,” Loki said with a rapacious smile, his annoyance giving way to mirth. “Deny your want for me. Tell yourself it is not so and tell yourself that you will never concede, because while your defiance is in its own little way admirable, it is only a matter of time before you realize that you cannot hold out forever. Luckily for you, Stjarnavetr, I can be very patient.”


	11. Part I - Chapter 11

Stjarnavetr

I was tormented with thoughts of Loki those next few days. He was all I could think of. I racked my brain, trying to make sense of this, berating myself for even thinking of giving in to him. I knew I could not, knew that I should not, but gods, did I want to.

His words to me that morning, his barely disguised threat, had not incited in me fear, though certainly trepidation, but lust. And he had been right. I did want him and I could not for the life of me explain it. Despite all that he was, and all that I was—or rather, was not—I wanted him. I was disconcerted, amazed and disgusted simultaneously that he could bring this out in me, for I certainly could not rationalize my want for him.

I lay in my bed those nights, too often running my fingers between my legs, feeling the slickness there made by just the thought of him, wondering why, even alone and safe in the confines of my room, I could not let go. I would close my eyes and imagine him lying next to me, running his hands over my body, imagine his kisses hot on my skin, his breath, his heat… but instead of allowing my fantasies to take me too far, I would turn over instead, squeeze my legs together and try to will this desire down, ashamed that I should dare to imagine him after everything. I suppose I was too afraid to even pleasure myself to the thought of him. Too afraid to find out for certain if I was completely and utterly ruined, despite Eir’s assurances to me after she had seen me through those first few weeks when I came to Asgard.

I wanted everything to go back like it had been. I wanted to come to his chambers three times a week, teach him seidr, leave, and go to the queen’s chambers with the other handmaidens. A safe routine, a reliable routine. But a small part of me, the impulsive and impious part of me that had been buried deep, unearthed now by Loki’s constant digging, wanted nothing more than for him to finish what he had started nearly two years ago, when he had knelt before me in that chair and asked me to give my body to him.

I tried to keep my mind free of these thoughts as I made my way to his chambers a couple of days after our last meeting. Our last seidr lesson—though I would not call it that, as we had actually not practiced any seidr—had ended on a rather uncertain note. While I had been angry and troubled, Loki had seemed more darkly amused than anything. But I swallowed my uncertainty as I opened his door and slipped inside. I was prepared for another fight, if anything, for he had seemed somewhat resentful that I refused to indulge him of my past in Vanaheim.

But I did not see him.

“Loki?” I called, shutting the door behind me and taking a few steps forward.

The room was silent and, after a moment, I decided he was not here. Not that I was displeased at possibly having avoided another nasty confrontation.

Just as I went to leave, I felt him behind me. Before I could turn around, Loki slipped his arms under mine, settled his hands on the front of my hips below my belly, and pulled me back against him.

“Loki!” I gasped, immediately stiffening in his arms and grabbing his wrists. He laced his fingers together, locking them, so I could not pull away from him.

“Shh,” he said, placing his chin on my shoulder.

“What are you doing?” I asked, attempting to not sound so alarmed. My heart was beating rather quickly, given Loki’s sudden and distressing proximity, and I am sure he could feel it, pressed so closely against me.

“I wanted to touch you,” he purred.

Instead of panicking, as I so desperately wished to do, I kept my voice, with a fair amount of effort, nonchalant. “So what was all that nonsense about patience?” I referred to a couple of days ago, when he had told me, basically, that I had no hope of holding out against him, and that luckily for me he could be very patient.

“Patience be damned,” Loki growled into my ear.

I would have laughed in my nervousness, if not for how truly disconcerting the situation was.

Loki unlocked his hands and lifted his right arm. He let his fingers ghost over my throat before he reached up, drew my hair to the side, and draped it over my right shoulder. He pressed his lips to the back of my neck and it sent chills down my spine and I gave a slight shudder.

Before I could attempt to squirm out of his embrace, Loki’s left hand moved towards the spot between my legs.

Immediately, I went rigid in his arms and my hand flew to his wrist, stopping him.

“Loki—”

And then I felt his other hand on my cheek, pushing my head sideways, my face towards him. He turned his own head and captured my mouth with his, silencing me with a heady kiss. He tightened his hold on me as if any slackness on his part would allow me some chance to escape his arms.

After a moment, he broke the kiss and I slowly opened my eyes. 

“Don’t you like it when I kiss you?” Loki murmured, pressing his forehead to mine.

I most certainly did, though I need not encourage him any further. I swallowed hard, trying to banish the sick anxiety brewing in my stomach. I tried instead to focus on the heat building between my legs, for I very much liked him holding me like this, despite my earlier indignation, and despite all I knew about him. For some reason I willed myself to let his hand go, willed myself to just let go.

And I did.

Before I had given it any more thought, my fingers relaxed their hold on him and I let his hand go, choosing to ignore the warning I felt in my heart and choosing instead to, foolishly, embrace the pleasure of it all.

I could feel the change in Loki’s body immediately at my silent consent; he turned his head to kiss me under my jaw and pushed his hips forward so I could discern his growing arousal pressing eagerly into my back. I could practically feel the excitement and the delight rolling off of him in waves as he resumed the short journey towards the apex of my thighs, until his fingers finally dipped into the crease between them.

When he cupped me, my entire body went taut against his and I dug my nails into his arms.

“Loki,” I whimpered, even as he continued lavishing affection to the side of my neck with his mouth.

But he only lifted his face and nipped at my earlobe in response. He curled his fingers through my dress and my breath hitched at the movement; I heard him chuckle softly against my skin. 

“Do you like it when I touch you, Stjarna?” he murmured, his voice low with desire.

I could already feel myself growing wet and I wondered if he would be able to feel it through the dress and shift beneath; some little part of me hoped so. 

Loki began stroking me, increasing the pressure of his fingers. Even through two layers of fabric, with each pass of his fingers, a bolt of pleasure shot through me. My breathing became ragged and my grip tightened on his forearm. I could hardly focus on the apprehension still lingering in the back of my mind, instead only able to center in on the incredible sensation of his hand pressed so intimately, so wonderfully, against me.

I rolled my head back against his shoulder with a breathy sigh, shifting slightly, feeling the slickness between my legs and focusing on the delightful thrum in my lower half. It had been so long since I had felt anything even remotely this pleasurable.

Loki continued like this for another minute before fisting the fabric of my skirts in his hand and pulling up. Immediately, I lifted my head and grabbed his hand for the second time, my stomach twisting in trepidation. I knew his intent.

“Loki—”

But he cut me off with another hard kiss, meaning to silence my protest, and he began pulling my skirts up again, and I did not try to stop him this time, vaguely wondering where my reticence had gone. I felt my hem, so quickly, slipping up my legs, past my stockings, which stopped right above my knees, and then over the front of my bare upper legs. I flinched when the cool air made contact with my heated and aching sex, but Loki thought he had done something. He kissed me gently, as if for reassurance.

Now he had the front part of my dress fisted in his right hand, bunched above my hips. Lightly, he splayed the fingers of his left hand on the front of my leg. I shivered as he began to stroke my skin, gravitating with agonizing slowness towards the most intimate part of me. My entire body was racked with nerves, even as I let him progress, and my breaths were coming faster in my uneasiness.

Had I not thought of this before when I lay alone in my bed, too angst-ridden to even bring myself to peak? I had thought of him touching me like this so many times before and now it was happening and I was too sick with fear to enjoy it. I tried to remember Eir assuring me that I was still capable of lying with another, still capable of reaching that pinnacle. And yet I was still so afraid, despite her reassurances. But I let him go on, pushing down the worry and instead trying to embrace the feeling of his hand and mouth on me.

Loki must have mistaken my uneasy panting for lust, because he shifted behind me and began kissing the spot between my neck and shoulder, wetting the skin with his tongue. Hesitantly, I let my head fall back and slowly closed my eyes, body taut with dreadful, delicious anticipation.

“Stjarna,” he breathed. I turned my head towards him and he covered my mouth with a kiss just as he brushed his palm lightly over the triangle of hair at the top of my legs. I gasped into his mouth as he ran his fingers slowly, reverently, through the curls, until they curved under my mound to touch me.

I stiffened at the wave of pleasure that barreled up from between my legs and let out a breathy moan when his fingers delved even further into my folds. It was for a good reason that I had never let him get this far, I thought languorously, as I rolled my head to the side, panting loudly at the marvelous sensation of his fingers buried in the slick heat between my legs. But I reveled in the fact that now Loki could finally feel the proof of my desire for him, feel it coating his fingers and smell it in the air.

Loki curled his fingers, letting his littlest finger brush against the sensitive nub at the top of my sex.

Another bolt of pleasure surged through me, setting every nerve, every fiber, alight for the briefest and most delicious of moments. Instinctively, I rose up on my tiptoes and pressed myself harder against Loki. All inhibition gone, I turned my face and pressed my lips to his jaw, whispering his name breathily through this haze, trying to get him to kiss me. He turned his face to mine, more than willing to indulge me; I opened his mouth with my tongue, wanting to taste him, wanting to take as much of him into my mouth as I could.

And then his fingers were moving again, further down, until they were at my entrance. But Loki left that spot neglected and instead pressed his thumb against my slick bud and began to, almost lazily, circle it, applying various amounts of pressure until I was panting into his mouth. Rivulets of pleasure coursed through me, never stopping; I shivered against him and involuntarily squeezed my legs on his hand, my breaths coming arduously now. I clutched at his arm, needing to hold on to something—anything.

Valdrlund had never touched me like this, so reverentially. When Valdrlund had touched me, it had been to bring me to the point where I could take him, to make his own entrances easier. He had hardly ever touched me for my own pleasure. But I could tell that Loki was enjoying this, what with the way he held himself so closely to me, the way he was lavishing affection on my throat even as he did so between my legs; he liked this, and I nearly wanted to cry for the excessive and breathtaking intimacy of it all.

Loki suddenly released my skirts, letting them fall and catch on his left wrist, still curled under me, fingers still nestled between my thighs, and thumb still making those torturous little movements. He grabbed my right hand and slowly pulled it behind me and between us, guiding it to the spot between his legs; he let out a heavy breath when he pressed my palm firmly against the swell of his arousal.

A quiet groan escaped his lips when I touched him through the leather of his pants. He pushed his hips forward into my hand; I did not pull away, but instead let him direct me, though I knew very well how to pleasure a man—Valdrlund had made sure of that. Loki splayed my fingers with his and rubbed my palm and the heel of my hand over him, mimicking the languid movements of his thumb on my own pleasure point. He buried his face in my shoulder, mouth open and breath hot on my skin. He was almost panting as he guided my hand over his hardness.

“Stjarna,” he whispered, his breaths coming faster.

He grazed his teeth across my skin and tightened his grip between my legs, increasing the force and movements of his thumb. I closed my eyes and rolled my head back, letting my own mouth fall open as I concentrated on the boiling heat, the wonderfully rising pressure, between my thighs.

Loki released my hand between us and lightly pushed it away. I wondered only for a moment, through my daze, what he was doing. But then I could feel him, hear him behind me, deftly undoing the laces at the top of his pants. It was then when I was gripped by the panic that had been lingering just below the surface, biding its time, waiting to drag me back to this awful reality.

My eyes flew open and immediately I began pulling away from him, my desire suddenly overcome by that sick apprehension, that familiar, cold fear that twisted my gut.

And so it had not been Loki’s fingers curled between my thighs, or his arousal prodding into my backside and my hand upon it, that had jolted me out of my delicious reverie, but the awful moment when I realized what I had done, and how far I had let this go. The reality of the situation was that this is not what Loki ultimately wanted. He would not be satisfied with just this touching and kissing. He would drag me to his bed next and expect me to spread my legs for him and my body and soul would be laid bare for him and he would feel what I had been desperately trying to hide, trying to forget, these past years.

I could no longer think of the pleasure, though I was on fire and in agony for want of him, but only the fear, the bloody memories and the ruination of my body. Damn what Eir had said—I could not do it. I could not bear to let him see, to let him know. This charade I had played at, this building myself up, of my letting him touch me so intimately, so wonderful while it had lasted, was shattered now so easily and so brutally.

“Stop!” I cried, trying to twist out of his arms.

“Stjarna—”

I grabbed his wrist, curled under me, and pushed it away. I took a few shaky steps forward to distance myself from him, my breaths frantic. My dress fell back to my ankles.

Gods, why had I done this? Why had I allowed him so far, knowing I could not lie with him? I put my hands over my burning face, trying to control my breathing. Loki did not say anything while I stood there, trying to unsuccessfully conceal and repress my panic.

Finally, Loki spoke, voice quivering with frustration.

“Why?”

I lowered my hands and began wringing them in my nervousness.

“Stjarna,” he said. I could tell he was trying to keep his voice steady. He was not doing a very good job.

Slowly I turned to him, my eyes flickering to his hand. I could see the sheen of my desire coating his fingers, see the subtle tremble of his hands. My gaze moved warily to the top of his pants. He had gotten them mostly unlaced before I had pulled away; the top of his pants were nearly open, the laces dangling.

“Why?” he repeated, swallowing hard. “Why do you do this? Allow me so far, then only to pull away?”

He was right. When he went to kiss me, or embrace me, I invited him in, loving the feel of him on me. But when it went too far, when the feelings of panic and dread surfaced, I could not help but to push him away. No matter how badly I wanted to finish it with him, I could not. But I could not tell him why.

I looked down, feeling the pinpricks of tears in my eyes.

“I… I am sorry,” was all I said, not looking at him. And I was. Sorry for him, and for myself, for I wanted him—that was painfully obvious to both of us now—and yet I could not bear to fully open myself up to him, and not be able to please him, or myself.

I fought the tears as best I could; I could not stand the thought of him seeing me in such a state. I could have his fingers curled between my legs, have my own hand bringing him to his arousal, but not let him see the tears.

I felt as if I were standing before Valdrlund. 

“It will not happen again,” I murmured, closing my eyes at the painful truth, even as the words left my mouth. It cannot happen again. I could not again allow myself to do this, to open up as I just had. It would lead nowhere. I cursed myself again for my stupidity and lack of self-control.

“What?” Loki’s voice was sharp.

When I did not respond, Loki took a deep, shuddering breath. I looked up at him. He was looking at the floor, lips pressed into a thin line, trying to collect himself. Slowly, he looked back up at me and raised his arm. His fingers glistened.

“You see this?” he said softly, barely masking the annoyed tremble in his voice. He took a step towards me.

I leaned back slightly as he advanced.

“This is yours. I did this to you,” he said, rubbing his fingers together.

My eyes were fixed on his hand, the evidence of my desire for him unmistakable. I could not bring myself to look into his eyes.

He was right in front of me now. He grabbed me by my jaw, not gently, and forced my head up.

“Look at me, Stjarnavetr,” he said, voice low.

I met his eyes; they burned with a cool ferocity. All I could hear in the silence was my heartbeat in my ears.

He merely looked at me for a long while, eyes flickering between mine, before he finally spoke.

“You drive me mad, you know.” His voice was perfectly steady now, though his gaze was malicious. “I could rip that dress off of you right now, Stjarnavetr, and take you here on this floor and you could not do a fucking thing to stop me.”

I felt a bloom of fear in my gut at the deceptive tranquility of his voice, at the visceral callousness of his words. His tone was brimming with something akin to barely disguised malice, but also woven with what I could tell was lust. I was almost frightened at how quickly he had gone from affectionate and assiduous to dauntingly feral.

He held me there for a long moment, fingers digging into my skin, simply staring down at me, his eyes hard and calculating. And then slowly, he extended his index finger and ran the tip of it over my bottom lip, smearing my wetness there. His eyes, cold in their intensity, followed the movement of his finger as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world.

Suddenly, I brought my arm up and smacked his hand away. I took a step back, watching him guardedly. His hand was still raised, fingers still curled in the air where my face had been moments ago. He was staring at me hard, lips pressed into a long, thin line.

A sense of disquiet came over me; the tension was very nearly palpable. I did not want to be in here with him anymore. I did not think it wise to linger. Before I could question myself, I turned from him and made my way to his door, my entire body tense with some terrible anticipation. I almost expected to feel his fingers wrap painfully around my arm to drag me back to him.

I made it to his door and opened it, thankful he had not come after me. Right before I left, I chanced to turn around, but did not see Loki anymore. Suddenly, I heard a door—his bath chamber door—slam loudly in his bedchamber and I flinched at the nearly thunderous sound.

As if to reciprocate, I shut his door as gently as possible. It took everything I had not to burst into tears then and there.

__

A few hours later, I sat with the other handmaidens in the queen’s chambers.

I thought that perhaps, in my rather harried state, the quiet conversation of Gullhár, Maerrhár, and Málvit would have helped to soothe me. But it had been a foolish decision, for I found myself increasingly irritated with their whispering. I decided I needed silence instead. Silence to be alone with my own unhappy, miserable thoughts.

I could not stop thinking of how I was no longer one of the only ones in here unspoiled by Loki’s touch. I worriedly kept glancing at the queen, who was focusing on her own embroidery, chatting with some of the other handmaidens across the room. It almost made me ill to think that she sat there, and that her son had had his fingers between my legs not hours before, and my own fingers between his. Did she know, even now? Gullhár and the others had told me that she knew, always, when her son took one of her women, or even a palace servant. Though I had stopped him before it had gotten that far, did she know what we had done?

Gullhár noticed my discomfort.

“Stjarnavetr?”

I looked at her.

“You look ill. Are you alright?”

I took a deep breath and shook my head. I was on edge, running over the events of this morning again and again, still seeing the ferocity in Loki’s eyes, feeling the dig of his nails into my skin, the cold vehemence of his words. It twisted my stomach, thinking of his agitation, how just moments before we had both been nearly lost in our pleasure. And now I could not forget his face, his expression… gods, it had frightened me.

“No. I do not feel well. I think I will retire to my chambers.”

I stood up and begged leave of the queen, who suggested I visit Eir. I politely declined, saying I only needed to rest. All I could think of while I looked at her was her telling Loki of my visits to Eir. It was still difficult for me to believe, for I so badly wanted to believe she was trustworthy. But then again, she had schemed for me to become Loki’s mistress. She had expected me to just fall into his bed like all the others and keep him from her women and the palace staff. And gods, I had been so close to it not even three hours ago.

I left the queen’s chambers, feeling some sense of relief now and somewhat comforted at the thought that I might fall asleep in my bed and for a few hours at least forget the events of this morning.

I walked slowly, wondering to myself how Loki and I would ever be able to move past this. Kissing was one thing, but this, what we had done this morning, could not so easily be forgotten, and how viscerally he had reacted afterwards. Gods, how I was dreading our next seidr lesson. I could not imagine how it would go, though I knew it would not be good.

I was quite close to my own chambers, still musing as I walked, when I heard sounds further ahead. I stopped and listened, straining to hear.

It almost sounded like moaning.

Hesitantly, I turned the corner and froze mid-step, my breath catching in my throat.

Halfway down the corridor I saw Loki and a girl.

Loki had the girl firmly pinned to one of the columns. Her skirts, which were brown and of a particular cut, denoting her station as only a servant, were bunched around her hips, exposing her milky white thighs. She was nearly dangling off of the floor; Loki had one large hand hooked under her knee, holding her leg up to his hip, and the other fisted in her mane of light gold hair, forcing her head back so she could look nowhere but up into his face as he took her. His own pants were unlaced and tugged down so far as to allow him to enter her.

I stared at the two of them for a long, awful moment before closing my eyes. I swallowed hard, fisting the fabric of my dress in my hands until my fingers ached.

I could hear them; I could hear the slick sound of their lower bodies moving against each other, so easily discernible even from here, each feverish smack of wet flesh preceding Loki’s breathy grunts and the girl’s pants, as he drove into her over and over again, all echoing in the silence of the corridor, all reverberating in my mind.

Slowly, I opened my eyes.

Loki was looking down at the girl, though I saw nothing in his gaze. He was not smiling at her or kissing her. But she was no longer looking up at him; her eyes were rolled back in her head, her mouth hanging open, and every hard snap of Loki’s hips against her soft flesh educing his name from her mouth like a prayer.

I took a faltering step back and slumped against the wall, unable to tear my eyes away. My entire body felt cold save for a sick and angry heat broiling in the pit of my stomach.

Loki released the girl’s hair and grabbed her other leg, lifting it. She was not touching the floor at all now, only held up by the column at her back and the force of his thrusts. For a brief moment, Loki ceased in his movements and ground his pelvis against her, baring his teeth. She whimpered and arched her back, wrapping her legs around his waist as best she could. He began plunging into her body with renewed vigor, no doubt coming fast upon his release.

Gasping with the force of his thrusts, the girl leaned forward and pressed her forehead into Loki’s chest, seemingly on the brink. She dug her fingers into his upper arms and turned her head sideways, panting her satisfaction, eyes fluttering and hair plastered to her damp face.

And then she saw me.

Her eyes flew open and she cried, “Oh!” She struggled briefly against Loki, her frantic little movements now hindering his own driving rhythm. Loki’s hips stuttered at her thrashing about; he looked incredibly irritated for a moment and stared down at her with what looked like disgust before his eyes followed her horrified expression and saw me leaning against the wall, watching them.

He did not look mortified, though the girl certainly did. She clutched at him, trying to bury her face in his neck for her shame, trying to make herself as small as possible against him. Loki did not react at all to her movements; it was as if she was not even there, hanging on him. He only stared at me, his lips parted and his chest heaving from his exertions.

I thought that I might feel something as we stared at one another, but I did not. I held his unapologetic gaze for what seemed an eternity before finally dragging my eyes away and turning to go back the way I had come. I had seen enough.

__

I only allowed myself to break down once I had slammed my door shut behind me. The sobs burst out of me immediately and I let them take me, my guts clenched by this sick mixture of grief and anger.

As I stood there, palms pressed hard to my temples, letting the sobs rack my body, my eyes found his brooch, lying complacently on my bedside table. I had dropped it off in my rooms after this morning, as I did every morning I saw him for seidr, since my chambers were on the way to the queen’s from Loki’s. In a fit of rage, I snatched it off of the table, staring at it for only a moment, barely seeing it for the tears, before I drew my arm back and flung it as hard as I could into the corner, my palm unconsciously heated with seidr. I heard the brooch bounce off of the wall and then skitter on the floor, coming to rest somewhere beneath my wardrobe.

Another sob racked my body. I fell against my bedpost, gripping my stomach. I curled over onto myself and slid down the post, drawing my knees up and burying my face in between them.

I felt like such a fool.

To have thought of him like I did, to even have ever wanted him. I had known how he was and yet I chose to ignore it. I had let him kiss me and I had kissed him back and I had, against my better judgment, let him touch me like that, so intimately, more intimately it seemed than Valdrlund had ever done to me, and I had liked it. The very thought of it sent me into another bout of weeping.

But I had known all along. I had told myself, warned myself against it these past two years. He would be rid of me like the others. I was nothing special. Some exotic Vana come to Asgard, I thought with vicious disdain, laid out for him to have whenever he wanted. Yes, I had known all along, and yet I had let him do those things to me.

I squeezed my eyes shut and dug my fingers into my palms, unable to block the image of him and the girl. I had been aware all these years of Loki’s wandering lusts, his absurd sexual escapades. But I had never seen it, seen him like that, brought to the heights of ecstasy, something I had not known myself for such a long time, if it could even be called that. I kept seeing the girl’s head rolled back, eyes fluttering in her own pleasure, feet lifted off the ground, as he poured all of his desire into her. I thought of how he had kissed me, how he had touched me not hours before, and I had thought that intimate. Had I even dared to think myself special? Gods, what a fool I was.

I had not lain with another for years. Not since Valdrlund and even then, only Valdrlund. Valdrlund, though not shy about slaking his own lusts with other women, had forbidden me from lying with another man. He would not have me tainted for him.

I had never thought it possible that I should once again crave the touch of a man, especially after Valdrlund. I thought I had been too ruined after Vanaheim, after that horrific night, for it was the touch of a man that had brought me so low. But not since that night in my chambers when Loki had knelt between my legs and alluded to me the pleasures to be had in each other’s bodies, did I doubt that I could ever again feel this. Though I cursed Loki for bringing this out in me, for there could not have been a worse man to lust after in all of Asgard, I longed for him every time I saw him, every time I thought of him, and yet did not possess the courage to have him.

Oh, what a strange thing the heart was, I thought. What a stupid, damnable, and naïve thing it was. How it could see the bad, and still choose to ignore it. How it could open itself up to one, knowing and seeing, and yet not caring…

My tears began to slow and now all I felt was a dull, hollow ache in my chest.

Had he ever felt this, I wondered? Did he understand betrayal? Did he understand this black feeling one felt when one they cared for, one they thought had cared for them, betrayed them like this?

But no. It was not betrayal.

Loki was not mine, and I was not his, no matter what he said. We were not lovers. We had never shared a bed. I was his tutor of seidr and he my pupil. It was no concern of mine, his little trysts. He had never committed himself to me, especially since we had actually never lain together. He had only ever expressed interest in lying with me. Had he not offered himself to me multiple times and had I not rejected him? He had no loyalties to me. He was not bound to me in any way.

And had I not sworn off of him, besides? I could not keep doing this, allowing him so far in his attentions, only to pull away at the last moment, too afraid to let it go that far. Perhaps this had been for the best. And yet, I still felt sorrow. It hurt too much to feel like the right thing.

As I sat there on the floor in miserable silence, curled in on myself, my tears drying on my face, unable to cry for him anymore, my sorrow gave way to some kind of miserable, brooding anger. I was thankful now that I had not given myself to him. That I had let him get as far as he did, I cursed myself and felt a fool. But never again. He would not touch me, or caress me, or kiss me again. I would not let him. We would continue from this point on as we should have been doing all along, before all of this began, before he had ever kissed me at the edge of Asgard.


	12. Part I - Chapter 12

Stjarnavetr

Loki would not stop staring at me. He sat there across from me, draped in his chair, running his finger, almost contemplatively, over his lips. Just staring.

But I was not looking at him. I was instead focused on the book of runes in front of me, slowly leafing through the pages, trying to find a new spell for us to practice. I had not felt much inspired to come up with a lesson for today and had resorted to consulting my books. The results had, thus far, been dismal.

And so we had been sitting in complete silence for near half an hour.

Loki had been beyond surprised when I had knocked on his door this morning. It had been two days since our last meeting, two days since I had let him touch me so intimately, two days since I had seen him taking that serving girl up against that column.

I suppose I would have been surprised, too, at my showing up, but I was here, as I was supposed to be, my feelings be damned. I had resigned myself to the fact that he was who he was, and there was nothing I could do about it. It was none of my business, besides. He would continue as he always had, and I would continue as well, and our courses would stay separate.

And though I had languished these past days, my sorrow and my anger now turned to a stagnant bitterness, I had nonetheless come to his chambers this morning for seidr. I had decided, long after I had spent myself crying, that I had nothing to be ashamed of, except perhaps for my stupidity and impulsivity days before when I had so carelessly, so unwisely, allowed him to do what he had done.

But despite my resolve, I had been fearful that I might burst into tears at just the sight of him, that I would not be able to not think of him pressed against me, think of his fingers between my legs. Luckily, I had held myself in check and brushed past him when he opened his door after I had knocked. Curiously, I felt nothing upon seeing him, which I was somewhat grateful for.

I had seated myself at his table, relieved at my tenacity.

After I had laid out my books, for I had brought two, I turned around in the chair to look at him. He had still been standing by the door, watching me.

“Are you ready?” I had asked, keeping the tremble out of my voice surprisingly well.

Without responding, he walked to the table and seated himself in the chair across from me. His eyes had fallen to my breast, drawn by the absence of his brooch. He had looked up back at me, saying nothing.

I had opened one of my books and begun to slowly flip through it.

After a few minutes, he had spoken, almost unsurely.

“Stjarna…”

I looked up at him. “Your Highness?”

And then he had closed his mouth, merely looking at me.

After a moment of holding his gaze, I had looked back down to the book.

And so the silence dragged on and I had still not found a spell. They all required too much contact, too much talking.

“Stjarna,” he said quietly, breaking the stillness of the room.

I did not look up at him. “Yes, Your Highness?”

“Stjarna, I’ll not sit here all morning like this.”

“Would you like to pick one, then?” I asked, running my finger along a line of runes.

“I am not talking about seidr,” he snapped.

“I am,” I shot back, lifting my eyes to meet his gaze.

Silence.

And then, softer, “I would speak to you about our last meeting.”

My stomach tightened.

“I would prefer it if we did not—”

“I do not care if you prefer it or not. It needs to be said—”

“There is nothing left to be said,” I said fiercely, cutting him off. There is nothing you can say to fix this, I thought miserably. All has already been said, all has already been done.

Loki stared at me. He almost looked at a loss for words.

I looked down after a moment and picked the first spell I saw. Luckily it was an easy one. I said softly, “I think I’ve found one—”

“Enough, Stjarna,” Loki snarled, standing up abruptly; his chair scraped shrilly on the stone floor. He braced his arms on the table, hands splayed, and leaned forward, glaring down at me.

I flinched at his sudden outburst and stared up at him.

“This is absurd,” he said. “I will speak to you—”

Immediately, I broke down.

“No, please, Loki!” I pleaded, my voice much smaller now and tinged with desperation. “Please, I am begging you. Just let this go, please.”

I saw his expression soften at my frantic imploration.

“Stjarna…”

“Please, Loki,” I begged. “Please, just let it be.”

I did not care if I looked or sounded pathetic. I did not want to talk to him about this, ever—I did not think I could bear it. I only wanted for us to practice seidr, as we should have been doing all along.

Loki stared down at me for a long moment and then glanced away and took a deep breath, as if trying to calm himself. He did not say anything, but fell heavily back into his chair. He motioned with his hand towards the book, indicating for me to go on.

I looked back down at the book, feeling some sense of relief. But now the pages were blurring together. I rubbed my eyes—I am sure it was obvious to him I was trying to fight back tears—and blinked. My vision cleared enough so I could read the runes on the page.

“Yes, th—this one is good. Did the queen ever teach you how to ignite or douse a flame?” I could barely hear my own voice, but he heard me well enough.

“No,” he said shortly.

That surprised me. This was a fairly basic spell.

I pushed the book towards him and whispered, “The third line.”

He gave me a fleeting glance. It looked as if he were debating something, but I suppose I looked pitiable enough that he decided not to push the matter and have me deteriorate even further. And so he looked down at the book and recited the spell.

Immediately, the fire in his fireplace cracked and flickered.

He asked me to demonstrate the spell for him.

Silently, I stood up and went to his fireplace. I flicked my wrist and the fire died immediately. I did it again and it blazed to life. After a certain point, one would not even have to recite the runes, aloud or internally. Merely willing the spell to happen could yield results. Loki was not quite there yet, though; it would take him many more years of practice to achieve such proficiency.

But for this morning, Loki mastered this new spell quickly. I had expected him to; he had improved much since I had become his seidr tutor. The queen had praised me more than once, saying how pleased she was with his progress in the magic of the Vanir. She supposed he was doing better because I was a Vana, while she was not, and therefore had been limited in her abilities and knowledge when she tutored him.

After Loki was capable of both igniting the fire and fully extinguishing it, I stood up, collected my books, and announced that he had performed satisfactorily enough for today and the lesson was over. He stared at me in surprise as I left and I did not look back.

The next few weeks passed in this manner. I would come to Loki’s chambers and we would hardly speak. He staring at me, as he was wont to do, and I avoiding his gaze as much as possible, and both of us now speaking very little. Perhaps I thought this method of avoidance would help me to get past this, but that was ridiculous. It only made it worse, for every morning I would leave his chambers without a word and leave the unspoken words to fester between us.

__

Upon entering the queen’s chambers a few weeks later, I found half of the handmaidens absent, as well as the queen. There only sat Gullhár, Maerrhár, Málvit, and another handmaiden called Haegr. She was new to Queen Frigga’s retinue and the others had taken her under their wing as they had me when I had first come to Asgard.

“Her Majesty is indisposed today,” Gullhár said, standing up, “so we are taking Haegr around the palace.”

When the queen could not run her own little court, her handmaidens dispersed either to their own chambers or wandered around all day. It could be very boring, but Gullhár always managed to find something for us to do.

Today, much to my dread, her plans included dropping by the training yard to gawk at the Einherjar. Málvit had insisted upon this course, as she had not seen her Einheri lover, Orn, in nearly a week.

“I would rather not go,” I told Gullhár. Even if it were to just pass by.

“Why not? Won’t Prince Loki be there?”

“Yes,” I bit out. I knew Loki’s schedule. He would be in the training yard now, along with Thor.

“Oh, come along, Stjarnavetr. Maybe he’ll show off for you again,” Gullhár laughed, linking my arm with hers.

And so I found myself unhappily pulled along with the others to the training yard. Gullhár, Maerrhár, and Málvit spoke to Haegr of the ways of the court as we made our way there, as they had done with me, while I remained silent. I was feeling a bit ill at the thought of seeing him. I seemingly always felt ill now when I saw him.

We did not receive as many looks as I thought we would when we entered the training yard. Apparently, women in the training yard were not really such an odd sight. Perhaps they passed through on their walks or wanderings; that is essentially what we were doing, except for the unfortunate fact that we were going to linger. Though women may have frequented the yard, for whatever reason, they tended to stay off to the side, well out of the way of the Einherjar.

And so we kept to the edge of the yard, a safe distance from any action, behind the line of columns where the stone benches were, where I sat the day Loki had had me come to watch him. While Gullhár and the others seated themselves, and Málvit was craning her neck to try to spot Orn, I stood next to one of the columns, looking out.

I told myself I was not looking for him, but that was a lie.

I found him easily. He was standing across the yard, resting on a long, wooden staff, and speaking to an Einheri. He was clad in a leather vest and vambraces, as he had been last time. He looked so at ease. Why could he not be like that all the time? Why did he have to be like he was?

I heard the handmaidens speaking, this time with an added male voice. I turned around and saw Orn standing there, Málvit hanging on his every word, as dull as they might have been. They were asking him what was going on today, what they could expect in terms of amusement. Orn laughed and explained to them that Prince Thor and Prince Loki were going to spar with staffs today. Nothing particularly exciting, he said.

“But you see it nearly every day,” Málvit said, looking up at him and smiling. “Our amusement is gossip and it gets so boring.”

Orn laughed and said, “I have been rather bored as of late, as well. Come along, my little dove.” And he took Málvit’s hand and they wandered off, leaving just Gullhár, Maerrhár, and Haegr sitting on one of the benches. I sighed and turned back around—and my heart dropped.

Loki was staring at me from across the yard.

When our eyes met, he immediately began walking towards me.

Gods, I wished Gullhár had not dragged me here. I knew I should not have come. I should have gone back to my chambers. At the moment, I thought that, compared to Loki, a book would have been much more preferable company.

Loki crossed the pit, bounded up the stone steps, and stood in front of me, still holding the staff in his hand. He grinned at me. I only stared at him.

“Hello, Stjarna,” he said, looking down at me.

I inclined my head. “Your Highness.”

He pressed his lips together. “Stjarna, you don’t have to call me that.”

“It would be inappropriate for me to call you anything else,” I replied demurely.

He rolled his eyes, but then grinned at me. “Did you come to watch me?”

I was astounded, and perhaps a little hurt, that he could act so unfazed after what had transpired between us. After he had spoken to me like that, after I had seen him…

“No. Gullhár wanted to show one of the queen’s new handmaidens around the grounds.”

Loki glanced over to the other women, who were talking amongst themselves now.

He looked back at me and lowered his head, trying to meet my eyes. He was smiling.

“Why don’t you look at me?”

I lifted my eyes to meet his gaze. “Yes, Your Highness?”

His smile slowly fell when I simply stared at him.

“Stjarna—”

Just as he reached out to touch me, and just as I pulled back so he could not, we both heard Thor shout Loki’s name from across the yard. Loki pulled back and turned around to see Thor standing in the middle of the pit, leaning on his own wooden staff. He also wore a leather vest and vambraces. I had not seen him before now; he must have been wandering around the yard when we first arrived.

“Don’t keep me waiting, brother,” Thor called.

Loki turned back to me. He smiled half-heartedly. “Wish me luck, Stjarna.”

“Good luck, Your Highness,” I said quietly.

He looked almost remorseful before he turned away from me and stepped back down into the pit.

“Did your little Vana come to encourage her champion?” I heard Thor ask Loki as he walked towards him. Thor glanced at me and smiled. “Did she come to give you a good luck kiss?”

Loki’s expression was stony. “Let’s get on with it,” he said.

Thor merely shrugged.

The two began unceremoniously circling each other in the middle of the pit. Loki looked less than impressed, but Thor was eager. I could tell in the way he held himself. He loved fighting. He could not get enough of it. While I knew that Loki did, to some extent, enjoy training, he would much rather have been elsewhere.

The two brothers circled each other for perhaps another minute before Thor lunged.

Loki easily avoided it and laughed.

But Thor turned on his heel and swung at Loki’s head. Loki avoided it with relative ease, and then began his own barrage of strikes.

The two struggled against each other for a good ten minutes, faces contorted in concentration and exertion. The ringing sound of their staffs cracking against one another echoed through the yard every few seconds. And yet, no blows were landed.

I noticed that many of the Einherjar were not even paying attention to the sparring brothers. But then, I supposed, they saw this nearly every day. The guardians of Asgard were either sparring themselves or taking a break, or the like. Or, like Orn, off somewhere probably fondling Málvit.

I watched Loki the entire time. Though I was less than pleased with him for the way he had hurt me, I still could not help but to be transfixed by his movements. Even though his technique was different from last time, to accommodate a larger weapon, his movements were still extremely lithe, incredibly precise.

But Thor, despite his bulk compared to Loki, was just as fast and just as precise.

And then, suddenly, it was not the sound of the staffs cracking together, but wood on skin.

Loki had landed a hard blow to Thor’s upper leg. Thor buckled and Loki took the opportunity to strike him again, this time right in his chest. Thor flew backwards and landed hard on his back. Loki was beside him in an instant and pressing the end of his staff into Thor’s stomach. He leaned over him and grinned widely.

“Had enough, brother?” he sneered.

Thor grunted something that I could not discern, but waved his hand irritably to indicate his defeat. Loki had won this round, something I knew was a rare occurrence.

Loki took a step back and turned to me. My lips parted in surprise when he smiled at me.

And then I let out a little scream, hands flying to my mouth.

Thor, as he rose, had brought his staff up and spun around to land a strike on Loki, to begin a second round. But Loki was not paying attention to Thor and did not even see to block the blow.

Thor’s staff made contact with the side of Loki’s head with a tremendous, resounding crack.

Loki flew nearly halfway across the pit and slammed into a weapon rack on the edge. The rack completely shattered; swords and spears went flying in all directions from the impact.

Thor stood there for a moment, frozen, staring at his brother, lying spread-eagled in the ruins of the weapon rack. He had not expected Loki to not have blocked his blow. I thought, with horror, that Loki would have been able to easily block Thor’s attack if he had not been looking at me.

I took a step forward, but stopped myself suddenly when I saw Thor and a few other Einherjar jog over to Loki’s fallen form.

Loki was moving now. He groaned loudly and sat up, supporting himself on his arms. He squeezed his eyes shut and let his head fall back. His mouth was open.

Thor knelt next to Loki.

“Loki?” Thor asked.

Loki lifted his head and squinted at Thor. He growled something and turned over onto all fours, trying to stagger to his feet. Thor put his arm under Loki’s arm, but Loki shoved him away.

“Get off of me!” he hissed. He closed his eyes once he was upright and put his hand to the side of his head.

“Loki?” Thor asked again. He looked terribly concerned. He had not meant to land such a vicious blow.

Loki took a deep, rattling breath and bent over, hands on his knees. He let out another groan, one of pain, and Thor said, “Would you like to go see Eir?”

Loki only shook his head. He stood back up, but stumbled backwards. I could see, even from here, a small rivulet blood trickling out of his ear, and the beginnings of a bruise already blooming on the side of his head.

“Just let us get on with it,” Loki said tersely. He blinked hard and looked around for his staff. It was across the yard, where he’d dropped it when he had been struck. He walked over to it slowly and shakily picked it up.

“Brother, let us resume another time,” Thor said. “You’re clearly—”

“Shut up and finish it!” Loki snarled, repositioning himself.

Thor pressed his lips together, but looked to the Einherjar that had come to perhaps aid Loki and dismissed them with a nod of his head. Thor approached Loki, his own staff ready.

Loki began, but his movements were visibly much slower than before, and Thor kept fixing his own moves so he would not strike Loki. Loki noticed.

“Fight properly, damn it!” Loki snapped.

“You’re not in a state to fight,” Thor retorted.

Suddenly, Loki swung the staff and struck Thor right in the stomach. Thor was thrown back and landed hard on his back with a loud grunt. Thor jumped up, his face purple.

“Cheat!” he screamed, advancing furiously on Loki. “You miserable cheat!”

Loki took a few faltering steps backwards, gripping his staff so hard that his knuckles were white. But he sneered, “What are you talking about?”

“You used your damned magic!” Thor shouted. “You put your magic into your staff, you fucking cheat!”

Loki scoffed. He seemed to be gathering his wits remarkably quickly for having just been so violently struck in the head. “A true opponent will not care whether or not you can handle his seidr. He will use it, despite you calling him a cheat.”

Thor looked ready to explode. He snapped, “And a true opponent would not let his guard down because his little Vana slut bats her eyelashes at him!”

Loki’s expression was unreadable.

I could see, out of the corner of my eye, Gullhár and Maerrhár look at me, appalled at Thor’s words. Poor Haegr did not know of my false reputation and so did not realize Thor had been talking about me.

Vana slut.

I swallowed hard, watching them, both tensed and very angry.

Loki stood there for a long, horrible moment, simply staring into Thor’s livid face. And then, suddenly, he moved. But Thor was a warrior, too, and his reflexes were just as quick.

They began fighting again. Unlike before, though, Loki did not appear so slow. He was in a fury, it seemed, and it helped to spur him on. Each movement, for both of them, was eager and lightning-quick, frantic and hard. The cracking of their staffs rang out in the yard, so quickly it almost sounded like one constant note.

If it had not been obvious before, it was obvious now. Loki was using his seidr; his entire staff was fairly glowing green.

Some of the Einherjar stood up and moved to the side of the pit, watching the brothers. This did not appear to just be a friendly spar anymore; both Thor and Loki looked absolutely incensed, and were trying to land each other agonizing blows.

I held my breath, horrified, fingers laced tightly together.

Loki was fast, though still a bit unsteady from the earlier blow to his head, but Thor was larger. And even with the seidr heating his staff, Loki could not land a proper, damaging blow to Thor. Inevitably, Thor beat him to it. Loki had left himself exposed, and Thor spun and hit his brother in the back.

Loki flew forward and landed hard, barely catching himself before his face skidded into the dirt. He went to stand up, but suddenly Thor was in front of him. Loki sat back on his calves, breathing hard, and looked up at Thor. He began to stand up, but Thor put his staff on Loki’s shoulder and pressed down. Loki groaned.

Thor said gruffly, “Enough.”

The yard was completely, horribly silent.

Thor lifted the staff, then, and threw it to the side. He turned away from Loki and exited the pit. I stared at Loki’s form, kneeling in the dirt. He looked so small there, and so alone. I had an urge, albeit a very fleeting one, to perhaps comfort him. But I was jolted out of my thoughts when Thor passed by me and suddenly stopped. He cast a glance back at Loki, who was now struggling to his feet.

“Your champion’s fallen,” Thor remarked to me. “Perhaps you ought to find a new one, Vana.” His tone was odd and I did not like his look. I lowered my eyes, waiting for him to pass. He chuckled as he brushed by. Once he had gone, I looked back up.

Loki had risen unsteadily to his feet and was also coming out of the pit. He passed by me, as well, but he did not look at me. He kept his eyes straight forward, purposefully avoiding my gaze. I saw the blood on the side of his face as he passed, and the bruise now forming there.

Despite my supposed indifference, his own callous disregard cut me to the bone.

__

That night, in the great hall, even from my spot at the handmaiden’s table, I noticed that Thor got incredibly drunk. His voice carried over the constant, dull roar of the hall. He was obviously still riding high on his victory over Loki this morning and told anybody who would listen, which just happened to be the entire high table, including Týr and Baldr, who both enjoyed mocking Loki, I knew.

Loki, meanwhile, looked absolutely murderous. He did not speak at all, from what I could see, and only bothered to look up in irritation when Thor clapped him on his shoulder. His bruise was still visible; he had gone to Eir immediately after and she had helped to reverse the worst of it, but the blow had been so hard that there would be bruising on the side of his head for perhaps another day or so. I did feel bad for Loki, despite his actions towards me earlier. I wondered if he was angry at not just Thor, but me as well. Much to my surprise, I found that the thought bothered me. I did not like thinking that he was displeased with me, in spite of everything.

There were a few instances when Thor, in between his bouts of gloating and carousing, managed to catch my eye. I would hold his gaze for a few seconds before looking away. I noticed, with some trepidation, that he was trying to catch my eye. He would grin at me and once he even winked. After that, I stopped looking towards the high table.

__ 

I sat on my balcony that night, looking out over Asgard. I did not think of anything—I only stared out into the darkness. I suppose the silence and the calmness helped to soothe me, as I had been feeling particularly distressed today after the training yard.

Unfortunately, my reprieve did not last long. It seemed they never did.

Somebody knocked on my door; my first thought, stupidly, was that it was Loki. But that was ridiculous. Why would he come to me now, of all times?

As I walked back into my chambers and towards the door, I wondered if it was Gullhár or one of the other handmaidens. That seemed most likely. But it was neither Loki nor one of the other women—it was a young boy clad in red.

“Good evening, Lady Stjarnavetr,” the boy said, bowing. “His Highness Prince Thor requests your immediate presence.”

I was silent for a moment.

“What?”

“His Highness Prince Thor requests your presence immediately,” the boy repeated.

“What for?”

The boy squinted at me as if I were daft. It was obvious to both of us why Thor should summon me. The boy had been on little errands like this before, I was sure. I was not the first handmaiden he had been sent to fetch.

But why me?

I was quiet, my mind racing.

Finally, I said, “Tell the prince that I am indisposed—”

“He told me not to come back without you,” the boy interrupted.

My guts seemed to twist in trepidation.

“Well, I will not—”

“He insists,” the boy urged, rising up on his tiptoes.

“I care not—”

The boy cut me off again, his voice low, but not unkind. “I was being polite, Lady Stjarnavetr, when I said he requested your presence. The prince does not like to be kept waiting.”

I stared at the boy. Yes, he most certainly had done this before.

“Yes, yes,” I snapped. “Give me just a moment.”

I turned back into my chambers and began wringing my hands, thinking frantically on what to do. There was not much I could do, I realized. Thor was the prince and I could not very well simply ignore a summons from him.

Slowly, I turned to my wardrobe, biting my lip. I went to it, knelt on the floor, and bent over to run my hands beneath it. I knew it was here, somewhere. And then, my fingers found it—Loki’s brooch. I grabbed it and pulled it out from underneath the wardrobe, where it had fallen when I had thrown it after I had caught him and the serving girl. I did not think I would be so pleased to see it undamaged, though I still felt bitterness as I pinned it to my dress.

Even if Loki was a damned fiend, this was still his brooch, and it still might serve a useful purpose.

If Thor had any ideas about how this night would go, let him see this. Let him be reminded, as Loki had so infuriatingly put it, that day when he had shown me to the other gods as belonging to him, that I was his and not to be touched.


	13. Part I - Chapter 13

Stjarnavetr

Thor’s page led me through the palace to his master’s chambers, whistling cheerfully all the while. Behind him, I was nearly falling apart with nervousness. I wanted to smack the boy. Did he not realize how precarious, how truly dreadful this situation was? I am sure this was routine for him, but it most certainly was not for me. Not anymore, anyway. The last time I had been summoned like this, it had been that night, my last night of comfort in Vanaheim. Valdrlund’s page come to tell me that his master wished to dine with me, and I had gone so easily, as I always had, never knowing and never suspecting.

But I pushed those thoughts away; they would do me no good now. Instead, I tried to rack my brain for any indication as to why Thor should summon me. He had never once before expressed interest in me. So what had suddenly changed? I had thought that he thought me Loki’s lover. Did not everybody seem to think that?

Too quickly did we arrive at Thor’s chambers.

The two Einherjar standing guard outside opened the doors when they saw Thor’s little servant. They admitted me silently—they knew the routine, as well. I went through the doors hesitantly. When I turned around, I saw that the boy had not followed me in; I spied his retreating form, disappearing into the dimness of the corridor. And then the doors were shut with a horrible, resounding echo.

Slowly, I turned around.

Thor’s chambers were much more expansive, and more richly furnished, than Loki’s. I wondered to myself if it was by choice that Loki kept smaller quarters. Thor’s rooms could only be described as sumptuous. A fire roared in the fireplace, at least twice the size of Loki’s, and it created a warm and inviting atmosphere. If it had not been for the perturbing, and rather distressing, circumstances upon my being here, Thor’s chambers would have presented a pleasant sight, indeed.

“Your Highness?” I called uncertainly.

And then Thor came in, from what I assumed to be his bedchamber. He only wore a red tunic unlaced at the collar and dark brown leather pants. He and Loki dressed very similarly, then, when lounging in their chambers.

I could tell immediately, as he walked towards me, that he was still drunk from the feast earlier. I could smell it from here, the stink of wine hanging around him like a cloud. I felt dread in the pit of my stomach. But he only smiled at me.

“Lady Vana!” he said cheerfully, striding over to me. “I am so glad you’ve come.”

He reached out and, before I could pull away, wrapped his arms around me. He was a head taller than I and could nearly put his chin on top of my head.

“Your Highness!” I gasped, trying to bring my hands up to his chest, but he was so strong and I was pressed so tightly against him that I could not get my arms between us.

I knew that Thor liked to drink. I had seen him drunk many times, mostly at feasts, but in other situations as well. He was a loud and jolly drunk, both lovable and easily influenced. But the drink could also make him incredibly careless, as well as recklessly oblivious. It was this side of him, in this state, that I feared most at the present.

But for now, Thor only held me to him. After we had stood there for a few moments, he at last loosened his arms from around me. I took the opportunity to take a cautionary step backwards.

“Why did you summon me, Your Highness?” I asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

Thor studied me closely, squinting. The room was dim, despite the large fire in his fireplace. Other than this, he did not have many flames currently burning.

He reached out and ran the backs of his fingers lightly down my arm.

“I am most jealous,” he said lustily. “My brother is lucky to have one such as you in his bed.”

“I am not in Loki’s bed,” I answered blandly, pulling away from his touch.

“No?” Thor laughed. His eyes fell to Loki’s brooch, pinned to the fabric gathered at my breast. “I find that hard to believe, Lady.”

I pressed my lips together in irritation.

“Why did you call me here, Your Highness?” I inquired again.

“I desired to see you,” he said simply.

My lips parted in surprise at his admission. Thor had probably looked at me less than a dozen times since I had come to Asgard and spoken to me half that time. He had only ever seen me when I visited Loki in the training yard or when he had intruded on our seidr lessons for some reason, in which Loki had always irritably told him to leave.

“Did you not call me a slut earlier?” I asked crossly.

“Ah, but a very pretty one,” he rejoined with a licentious grin, taking a step forward.

I leaned away from him, my insides twisting with unease.

Thor, even in his drunken state, saw my movement, and laughed. “Oh, come now, Lady Vana.”

And, once again, too quickly for me to even react, he grabbed me. He yanked me towards him and I stumbled against his front. I let out a panicked little gasp as he lowered his face to mine, though he did not kiss me as I thought he would. Instead, he pressed his cheek to mine, his stubble grating against my skin.

“What do you say, Lady, to making my little brother jealous?”

I tried to twist out of his arms, but he held me tightly. I could feel his warm breath on my ear, ruffling my hair. What was he talking about, making Loki jealous?

“Why’s he got to keep you all to himself, hmm? Wouldn’t you like to try my bed? I can assure you, Lady, that I will bring you to your release faster than he can.”

My entire body felt hot, then; there was a nauseous flush spreading through me, the distinct feeling that I should not have come here. I was so stupid to have come here. I should have slammed the door in the page’s face.

I tried again to push him away, but to no avail.

Thor lowered his face and pressed his lips to my shoulder. At the same time, he lowered one of his arms and suddenly I felt his hand between my legs, pressing upwards.

A jolt of fear shot through me and I went rigid in his arms.

“Thor!” I cried frantically. I squeezed my legs together, tried to push his hand away.

Thor loosened his hold on me and brought his hand away from between my legs, though he did not let me go. He almost looked confused. “Don’t you want this?”

“What?” I said breathlessly.

Thor smiled knowingly, almost piteously, and tilted his head to the side. “Come now, Lady Vana.”

When I did not respond, and remained still, he frowned.

“I would think with Loki fucking that girl—”

“What?”

Thor squinted at me, thinking I had not heard him.

“With Loki fucking that girl—”

I grimaced at his words, but interrupted him again, my voice cold. “How do you know of that?”

Thor laughed.

“Loki and I’d been drinking a week ago or… and… and he told me that his little Vana’d caught him fucking some wench up against the wall or… something… he always acts so severe, you know, Lady, but really he is so… so very funny when he drinks…” Thor trailed off, as if he had forgotten what he was talking about. It seemed he was having a difficult time remembering. But then he grinned widely at me. “Would you not like to—” he paused to belch “—make him jealous, Lady Vana?”

I only stared at him, brows creased and mouth open in shock. Unfortunately, Thor took my disgusted silence for consent.

He said jovially, “Come!”

And he bent down, scooped his arm under my legs, and lifted me up. My stomach lurched and I gasped loudly, clutching at his neck for support. My eyes widened in alarm when I realized he was carrying me towards his bedchamber.

“Thor!” I cried, trying to twist out of his arms, not caring if I fell now.

But Thor was incredibly strong—even more so than Loki—and it was useless. He only laughed, merrily, it seemed. My pleas did not register with his hazy mind. All I could do was struggle and beg, pray I might get through to him, hope that he still retained some sense of himself even in this state of inebriation. I knew Thor was not a bad man. But he was incredibly drunk and his reasoning for this erroneous.

He carried me into his bedchamber towards his bed. Thor’s bed was huge, much larger than Loki’s, and draped with rich blue fabric and heaped with furs. He tossed me unceremoniously onto it and I bounced once and watched in horror, even as I turned over to try to roll off of it, as he crawled in after me. He reached out and grabbed my ankle, keeping me from slipping off of the edge, and dragged me towards him. I tried to grab the covers, trying to pull myself back up and away from him, but it did no good.

He clambered onto me and straddled my hips with his, pressing me down into the bed. I went rigid beneath him and put my hands on his chest; he only hovered above me, grinning down at me.

“Thor,” I breathed, staring wide-eyed up at him.

Still he only smirked down at me. Could he not see the panic on my face, feel the fear rolling off of me in waves, even in his state?

He leaned down, oblivious to my hands on his chest. I felt as if I could not speak; the words died in my throat. He pressed his lips to mine and thrust his tongue past my teeth. I was suffocating on the overpowering stink of wine, drowning in it.

And then I could feel him, with his free hand, ripping at the bands on my dress, tugging until I heard them give. Did he bed every maiden like this? He was like an animal.

“Stop, stop it,” I said desperately against his mouth, but my voice was so low, so quiet. I could barely breathe; I tried in vain to push his hands away, but he did not seem to notice. He only lifted his hips off of me so he could pull my dress up and bunch it around my thighs, giving him easier access to the spot between my legs.

He lowered one of his arms and I tried frantically to grab his hand—I knew what he was doing—but it was already there, against the inside of my thigh.

This sick mixture of fear and dread seemed to numb me and suddenly it was not Thor above me, but Valdrlund. I froze beneath him; my heart was racing in my chest so quickly that I was unable to even discern my separate heartbeats.

He looked so much like Valdrlund. The broad shoulders, the blond hair and the beard, the piercing blue eyes and the hot, humid breath that stank of wine. It was not Thor lying on me, but Valdrlund, drunk, tearing at my dress, angry that I did not open myself up to him as he commanded, wondering angrily why I did not obey him, when I had been chosen by him to share his most illustrious bed.

Valdrlund had not often taken me when I did not wish it, but enough that the servants spoke of it, and subsequently the court. He would come to me drunk, reeking of wine or beer, and try to drag me to my own bed. At first, I pushed him away; I hated it when he was drunk. He was thoughtless and cruel. But he would not have that, would not tolerate this defiance from his mistress. He would become irate and strike me, bend me over the furniture, take me whether I willed it or not. I was his mistress and his to have whenever or wherever he pleased. Eventually, I learned to give in and open myself up to him and I would lie there motionless as he spent himself inside of me. Loving, insufferable, treacherous Valdrlund.

“Thor,” I whispered pathetically, trying to find my voice.

“Mmm?” he murmured.

I was still paralyzed beneath him, wondering why I could not move, wondering why I could not find the strength to shove him away. I turned my head to the side, but he did not seem to notice, or to care; he began to kiss my neck, his stubble grinding uncomfortably on my skin.

“Thor,” I breathed, tears beginning to blur my vision.

He must have mistaken my tone for passion because, before I knew it, he had pressed his fingers harder between my legs and they were suddenly inside of me. He groaned and I gasped loudly in surprise and in pain. It was so different from Loki. I clamped my legs shut and pushed at him, seidr unconsciously heating my palms.

“Thor!” I cried frantically, finding my voice again. I twisted beneath him. “Stop it!”

“What are you doing?” he asked breathlessly, sitting up off of me. He pulled his fingers out of me and I went limp under him, my breaths coming fast and hard. I closed my eyes, trying to regulate my breathing. I did not reply to him. I could hardly breathe, let alone speak now.

I felt him shift above me, so now he was up on his knees. I cracked my eyes open and saw with horror that he was fumbling with the laces of his pants.

My distressed lethargy suddenly gave way to panic; I bolted upright and shoved him backwards. He fell back off of me and I took the opportunity to roll over and scramble for the edge of the bed. I nearly fell off the side, but caught myself at the last moment.

I pulled myself upright and stood there, legs shaking violently. I looked at Thor. He was on all fours now, grinning at me. He crawled towards me. “Playing games are we?”

He reached for me, but I pulled away and he only managed to grab a fistful of my dress. He tugged at me and I heard a ripping sound. I looked down and saw that Loki’s brooch was gone. I looked back up, frantically scanning the bedcovers for a glint of gold, but I did not see it. Where had it gone?

I was brought back to the current situation—the more pressing situation—when Thor, despite his drunkenness, began to slip off of the bed to come after me.

I made for his door, but he was behind me again, faster than I thought somebody as inebriated as him could be, and I felt his arm go around my waist. He spun me around and crushed me to him. His lips collided with mine and I gasped into his mouth, trying desperately to wrench out of his arms.

“You’re a feisty one, aren’t you?” he laughed, pulling his face back with a tremendous smile. Did he think that I was playing with him?

I shoved at his chest, but this time with seidr purposefully gathered in my palms. Thor let me go and stumbled backwards at the force of my push, surprise etched onto his face. I stood there, faintly horrified that I had just offensively used seidr against a prince of Asgard. But Thor only laughed; it was a deep rolling laugh that emanated from his belly.

And then he was coming towards me again. I turned to make for the door, but I felt his fingers wrap around my wrist. He yanked me to him and I stumbled against him. He enfolded me in his arms and I felt, once again, his hand traveling down to press against my womanhood through my dress. Gods, would this never end? Could he not see? I was on the verge of tears, shaking and cursing myself for having come here.

“Thor!” I pleaded, realizing now, with some sense of dreadful finality, that it did no good to struggle.

Thor put his mouth next to my ear. “I can give you so much more than him,” he said lustily. “Loki is still a boy. He thinks he knows women, thinks he knows what they want. Let me show you how little he knows.”

He turned his face and kissed me on my cheek, which was wet with tears now.

Thor pulled his face back and blinked at me. He lifted his hand and put it on my cheek and stroked his thumb over my skin, wetting his thumb.

He frowned at my unhappy expression, only now seeming to realize that I was shivering and on the verge of bursting into sobs. But then he smiled drunkenly at me and opened his arms, allowing me movement. I quickly took a few steps back and watched him guardedly.

“Go on, then, little Vana,” he said, his tone suddenly cheerful, as if I were not standing before him a quivering mess. He motioned with his hand towards the doors, indicating his permission for me to leave.

I only stared at him, too wary, too frightened, to even turn my back on him. I walked slowly towards his doors, keeping my front to him the entire time. When my back hit the door, I quickly spun around and yanked it open. Behind me, I heard him call, “If you ever get bored with my brother, Lady, let me know!”

I stumbled out into the corridor, my breaths coming fast and hard.

The two Einherjar outside of Thor’s chambers looked at me in surprise. Surely when a woman went in, it was a while before she reemerged, and most certainly in a much happier and satiated state. I had taken less than half an hour, I figured, and looked positively harried.

I walked back to my own chambers slowly, trying to calm myself. I could still feel his fingers there, burning, feel the grating of his beard against my skin.

Once safely in my rooms, I went immediately to my bath chamber. I shut and locked the door behind me, drew a bath, stripped, and plunged my body into the water. But it was not nearly hot enough. I opened my hands beneath the water and used my seidr to heat it up, perhaps trying to boil away Thor’s touch, the feel and smell of him on my skin. Once the water was scalding, and my body burning, I let my head fall back and I cried.

__

I lay in the tub until morning.

The water had long ago grown cold and yet I remained, shivering and staring miserably at the wall. I had hoped that if the heat of the water the night before had not burned him from my skin, then that the cold would freeze it away. And all the while, I thought of naught but Vanaheim and Valdrlund.

I thought of that night, my last night in his bed. I could feel him on me, feel the scrape of his stubble, so like Thor’s, against my skin. Hear him whispering of his love for me, how he was so sorry. False and empty words, all of them. And then that heavy and frigid blackness seeping into every corner of my consciousness, until I could no longer concentrate long enough to hear of his love or his remorse. Waking up in that darkness…

I shivered hard and tried instead to focus on the numbness of my body. I liked this feeling, or rather, lack of, though it did not help much in the way of distracting myself from the memories. Fortunately, I had been, to a point, able to block them. What came after I had slipped into that blackness was difficult for me to bring back to the surface. I could now only conjure images of blood, only hear my screaming and my begging, but hardly anything else. I had tried so hard to forget. But I knew what had become of me, still, in the back of my mind. The cruel outcome.

Under the water, I let my hand wander down from my belly to the spot between my legs. I curled my fingers there, thinking on what had been lost to me, what had been so viciously and callously stolen. I squeezed my legs on my hand and slowly closed my eyes.

I let my head fall to the side. I felt too weary now to even think of Vanaheim or Valdrlund, of Thor or Loki. And so I lay there, trying not to think of anything.

Unfortunately, reality would not leave me to soak in my grief; a low and irritatingly familiar voice pulled me violently out of my miserable stupor.

“Stjarna.”

I bolted upright and the water sloshed out of the tub at my sudden and frantic movement. I stared at the door in a sort of shocked horror, my heart pounding.

Loki’s voice was tight and controlled.

“I would speak with you.”

“Wh—what?” I sputtered, rising out of the bath. The water rolled off of me, splashing loudly below me, and suddenly I felt exposed, despite the fact that he stood on the other side of the door. I nearly fell out of the tub in my haste to cover myself. I snatched my shift off of the floor and tugged it on. It was instantly and completely saturated from my still soaking skin.

“You did not come to my chambers this morning for seidr,” Loki remarked. I heard him lean against the door. “Is something the matter?”

I could tell by his voice he knew damned well something was the matter. His tone was low—dangerous. He knew, I realized then, with a stab of terror. I let out a shuddering breath and put my back to the wall, fisting the fabric of my shift in my hands. How he knew, I did not know, but all that mattered was that he knew, and he was here, and I was petrified.

I could not bring myself to respond to him. I merely stood there, shivering, and hoping foolishly that he would simply go away.

“Have you spoken to Thor lately?” he asked, then. He was trying to keep his voice nonchalant, but I could hear the tension rippling beneath the layer of indifference.

I closed my eyes, feeling as if my insides had turned to water. It would do no good to lie, though. I suppose the door between us made me feel safer.

“Yes,” I responded tentatively, voice trembling from the cold. He probably suspected it was from my nervousness.

“Come out,” he said immediately. “I would speak with you.”

My voice was weak. “I—I would rather not.”

“Open the door.”

“I do not want to,” I said pitifully.

“We’re not doing this again, Stjarna,” he warned from the other side.

I did not respond.

“Stjarna.”

Please just go away, I begged silently. I could not bear to see him. Not now.

And then I heard him grab the handle. A moment later, I heard the lock inside crumble; he had used his seidr to break it. My heart dropped when he pushed the door open.

Loki seemed to fill up the entire doorway; I stared at him warily, taking him in. His expression did not seem to be one of rage, only mild annoyance, though the tautness of his body and his clenched fists betrayed the true degree of his anger.

“Loki,” I whispered as he came towards me. I raised my arm and put my hand on his chest. I did not want him to come any closer. He stopped, but did not say anything. He only looked down at me, and I up at him.

He lifted one of his arms and slowly unfurled his fist in front of my face.

On his palm lay the brooch that Thor had ripped from my dress the night before.


	14. Part I - Chapter 14

Loki

She had not come to my chambers this morning for our seidr lesson, which had surprised me. Despite everything that passed between us, Stjarna had always been very punctual. But I had known the reason for her tardiness today.

I had waited for her in my chambers, drumming my fingers impatiently on the table, my other hand fisted around the brooch I had given her, returned to me so thoughtfully in the early morning hours by Thor. Or rather, that irritating little page of his.

The boy, called Svienófridr, had knocked on my door early this morning. I had still been irate from my defeat by Thor at the training yard the morning before and kept from sleep for my humiliation. I had been also thinking incessantly on how he had spoken so degradingly of Stjarna, called her a Vana slut, and how it should not have bothered me, seeing as how she would not even speak to me.

Upon swinging my door open and seeing him standing there, I had sneered at him. “What is it?”

The boy had flinched at my tone but nervously bowed.

“Your Highness,” he had said quietly, “His Highness Prince Thor wished to return this to you, since the Lady left it behind and he did not wish to awaken her in her chambers for…” he had grimaced, as if his next words pained him, “she has not got much sleep this night and needs her rest.”

Svienófridr had then extended his hand, wishing to give me something. I, not fully understanding what he was talking about, held out my own hand. Something small and gold fell into my palm. He had then given me a hasty bow, turned around, and hurriedly left.

And I had looked down and seen the brooch there.

I had closed my fingers over it, letting the pin dig into my palm. It had not taken me long to realize what had happened.

My first thought had been to go to Thor, but he would still have been drunk from the night before. But not drunk enough to fuck her. Oh, but no. That was not what this was. Thor had never shown an interest in her. Not really. He acted like that towards all of them, being the tremendous flirt he was.

This was Stjarna.

Surely she had done this in retaliation for what I had done to her. For what she had seen. She had chosen to lie with Thor after she had seen me fucking that girl in the corridor. It was difficult for me to imagine her resentment, considering how many times she had rejected my advances, but there had to have been something there or she would not have done this.

And so all morning I had paced in my rooms, raking my fingers through my hair and seething, resisting the urge to break and shatter the furniture. I was tormented by images of Stjarna lying supine beneath my brother when she would not me. She would spread her legs so easily for him, simply to inflame me, but she would not give herself willingly to me. I never would have thought that she would lower herself to this, even after what I had done to her, but she had accomplished what she set out to do.

It made me absolutely sick with rage to even imagine them together. Thor touching her as I had, Thor inside of her, as she would not allow me. Had she liked it? Had she said his name, cried it out? Had he brought her to culmination, as I had only been able to imagine so many times?

But thinking on it had only driven me deeper into my fury.

I had focused instead on her impending arrival, for she had never been absent or late for our seidr lessons, no matter what had transpired between us. But I had waited for her and she did not come. And so I had decided that I would go to her, pride be damned.

And even as I had made my way to her chambers, the brooch fisted in my hand, I could not help but to think that if I had not grabbed Stjarna that day when I had touched her, threatened her like that so tactlessly, none of this would have happened.

It burned me just to think back on it.

I remembered how I had stood above her, holding her face in my hand, thinking on how easy it would be to force her body to open for me, how incredibly easy it would be to just make her. But I did not want her like that—not really. I had not been lying to her when I had told her I could be patient, though it took every bit of self-restraint I possessed, which was not much, not to just take her. I could be very patient and be very pleasant about it all if I so wished, but Stjarna had worn my patience dangerously thin.

And then she had smacked my hand away and turned from me and I had suddenly been overcome with the urge to grab her by the hair and drag her to the floor and make good on my threat. Ultimately, I had decided that was not the best course of action and opted angrily instead for my bath chamber.

Upon slamming the door shut behind me, I had immediately freed my cock from my pants and wrapped my hand around it and fell back against the door, wishing desperately that it was her hand or her mouth or her cunt—anything but my own hand.

I had been so fucking close.

That was the furthest she had allowed me. I had not expected her to let me that far, but when she did I thought that, finally, she would give herself to me. I had been so hard against her and I’d had her hand on me and I could smell her desire in the air and it was driving me mad. But Stjarna was as skittish as a pony and had pulled away from me when I had begun unlacing my pants in my excitement like a fucking idiot, wanting to feel her hand around me.

I imagined her as I had slid down my bath chamber door, head tilted back and panting, attempting to expel all of my anger and my desire into my hand. But when I had come, it had been hollow and supremely unsatisfying. I had hit my head against the door once in my frustration, gazing with disgust at my seed coating my fingers—how it was on my hand and not in her.

I had lain there against the door for nearly an hour, berating myself and cursing my careless stupidity. 

I could not remember the last time I had so desperately wanted a woman and I knew this was fast getting out of hand.

Never did I think Stjarna would hold out so long against me. I had almost thought it a game to see how far I could push her, but now it did not feel like a game. She was broken and would not tell me how or by whom. I did not believe her, of her fears of becoming whore to another prince, for that she wanted me was obvious—painfully obvious—but she simply would not let go.

When Mother had told me that there was a Vana coming to Asgard, meant to be my new tutor in seidr, the same Vana who had shared the Van prince’s bed, she had advised that I be delicate around her, for she had been “injured.” I had inquired as to the nature of her injuries, but Mother would not say. It was Stjarnavetr’s choice to tell me, Mother said, if she ever did. I had thought perhaps that the Van prince had badly beaten her or something similar before she came to Asgard, for it was not unknown here, through the gossip brought by the diplomats, that he beat his mistress.

Mother had extolled her virtues to me, of how pretty and intelligent and cultured she was, having come from Aldregimildr’s court. It was apparent to me what she was doing and I’m sure she knew that, too. And so I had played along, as she wanted me to. But then it was not so playful when I had kissed Stjarnavetr there at the edge of Asgard.

I had only wanted to see her reaction. I liked toying with them like that.

I did not know if it ignited anything in her that day, but it certainly did me.

When I had pulled away after I kissed her, I was surprised at how strongly I felt myself respond. If she had been willing, and I any more forward than I already was, I would have taken her right there on the edge, on the rocks and the tree limbs.

I wanted her. But not just once. I would not be satisfied to have her just once, as I was with those others. I wanted Stjarna always. I fantasized about her almost constantly, especially when I lay in my bed at night and even when I fucked those other women.

Even as I had lain with that handmaiden and come into her that night—Stjarna had mentioned her name, had it begun with an E?—I had imagined it was Stjarna beneath me, gasping my name in pleasure, arching up into me, digging her nails into my back. And then Stjarna had come that morning for seidr and as she had droned on, I decided then that, yes, I would have her. I could not bear to not have her.

I had come to her that day after the hunt and got on my knees and offered myself to her and still she would not have me. I had touched her and used my mouth on her, seen the proof of her desire for me evident between her legs, and still she would not have me.

And I had grown angry yet again thinking on all of this, lying on my bath chamber floor, seeing with some sense of bitterness the sticky proof of my unslaked desire coating my hand and pants.

I had collected myself after that and left my chambers, needing to walk, unable to sit still.

And I had been walking, quickly and undisturbed, for an hour or so through the palace, when I had stumbled upon that pretty, gold-haired little thing in the corridor. Some lowly servant singing to herself as she walked.

She’d had lots of gold hair and light eyes like Stjarna and I had grown aroused just looking at her, thinking how similar she looked to my Vana—how easily it could have been her. I had made myself known and surprised her and within minutes I’d had her up against the column. Silvertongue, they called me—and for good reason. It was not terribly difficult to get a woman to lift her skirts for me; it was so easy, sometimes so laughably easy, when I touched them and kissed them and made them feel as if I actually wanted them.

I had not been paying attention; I had been too focused on the girl panting my name—I had told her to say it, wanting to hear her voice and imagine that it was Stjarna’s—and had not even bothered to cast an illusion around us, as I usually did when I fucked them up against the wall or the like. I had been too far gone in my lust, too bent on spilling all of my frustrated desire into her body, so close to it, when Stjarna, of all people, in all of the palace, at that moment, had come across us.

She had been leaning against the wall down the corridor, only staring. Her face had been perfectly blank and I had not been able to tell if she was angry or sad. But then she had simply turned around and left.

I had felt such anger, then. Anger at Stjarna and anger at myself, that I should be reduced to this, fucking some serving wench, imagining it was another woman, because the woman I actually wanted would not have me. Oh, but I did not just want her body. I wanted all of her and only for me and I could not have it.

I had not been able to stop—even Stjarna’s unexpected arrival had not been able to deter me. I had grabbed the girl’s hair and yanked her head back, wanting to see her face, wanting to see Stjarna’s face. I had even deigned to kiss her, but she had not tasted like Stjarna and I had grown even more furious, that this wasn’t Stjarna beneath me.

I had reached between us nonetheless and begun kneading that spot that drove them mad until the girl was shaking against me, digging her fingers into my arms. When she had come and I could feel her insides contracting around me, urging me towards my own release, I had leaned forward, gasping, and spilled myself inside of her. I had pressed my face into her hair and taken a handful of it between my fingers and imagined it was Stjarna trembling against me, brought to this by me.

But the servant’s hair did not smell like Stjarna’s and suddenly none of it had been worth it. I had let the girl down slowly after I’d finished with her, thinking bitterly on how I had just ruined any potential, actual relationship with Stjarna.

And then I had tried to speak with Stjarna on what she had seen. I had wanted to apologize, though it had burned me to admit that I may have done wrong, but she would not hear me. She had begged me to let it go and she had looked so pathetic that I had.

I knew I shouldn’t have. We had been barely speaking these past weeks and now I stood here outside of her bath chamber door, irritated that she was hiding from me, disinclined to simply speak, unwilling to even open the door.

I had noticed about Stjarna that she liked to avoid unpleasant things, but I would not tolerate this ridiculous little game a second time. I would speak with her whether she wanted to or not.

We had gone back and forth for a bit before, finally, I grew tired of it.

“We’re not doing this again, Stjarna,” I said.

There was no response.

“Stjarna,” I warned.

Still no reply.

So I grabbed her door handle. It was locked, though that was no matter. I sent a burst of seidr into it and I could hear the lock within break. I pushed the door open and saw her standing with her back against the wall.

She was shivering hard and dressed in nothing but her shift, obviously thrown on in her haste to cover herself. It was completely soaked through and nearly translucent from her wet skin, sticking to her body and emphasizing every curve and every dimple.

But I did not linger long on her state of undress or her frightened expression.

I heard her whisper my name as I went towards her. She put her arm out and splayed her fingers on my chest, stopping me from coming any closer. I acquiesced to her silent plea and stopped and held up my hand and opened it, keeping my eyes trained on her face.

Upon seeing the brooch there, the one that I had given her, she slowly closed her eyes.

“Ah,” I said, the edge of my lips curling up into a knowing smile. I tilted my head up to look down at her. “So you did fuck him.”

Stjarna’s eyes flew open and she looked up at me in surprise.

“What?”

I took a step towards her—it was not as if she could actually hold me back—and she seemed to shrink against the wall. I was too close for comfort, obviously.

I reached up and grabbed a sopping tendril of her hair that had been plastered to her face, keeping the brooch firmly in my palm. I curled her hair around my finger, watching the droplets of water trickle down the back of my hand.

“Did you think to incite me, Stjarna, by lying with him?” I asked softly, slowly turning my gaze on her. “You’ll let me kiss you—” I let my voice drop and I bared my teeth, leaning towards her; with my other hand, I pressed my fingers hard between her legs, feeling the crease of her sex through the soaking scrap of fabric “—and you’ll let me touch you, but you’ll not lie with me, yet you’ll fuck him—”

“Loki!” she gasped loudly, grabbing for my hand and rising up on her tiptoes. Her nails dug into my arm as she tried to push my hand away. “I did not—”

“Do not lie to me!” I hissed, bringing my hand away from between her legs and releasing her wet hair.

“Loki,” she pleaded, “I did not lie with him.”

I scoffed at her and suddenly she did not look so passive.

“Why did you come here?” she demanded. “Why do you do this?”

Despite her tone, I could see the hesitation and the fear in her eyes and I drew from that.

“Because you will not have me!” I shouted. She flinched against the wall. “Gods know that I’ve tried, but you won’t have me!”

“Why does it matter?” she asked desperately.

“Because you are mine!” I snarled, moving closer to her. Any nearer and our fronts would have been touching. “You are mine and you’ll have him, but you will not have me!”

“I do not belong to you!” she replied indignantly, her voice rising.

“You are mine,” I reiterated darkly. How could she possibly argue this? I had kissed her, felt her as no other had since that idiotic Van. I’d not allow another to touch her as I had, to have her as I could only imagine. But Thor had. Thor had touched her and kissed her and been inside of her not hours before and the thought of that set my blood to boiling.

Stjarna drew herself up. “I am not yours, Loki. I am not your whore.”

“But now you are Thor’s?” I growled.

“I did not lie with him!” Stjarna cried, and with that my anger simply seemed to spill out.

“Do not lie!” I nearly screamed, slamming my open hand against the wall near Stjarna’s head. Stjarna cowered against the wall and nearly immediately her face crumpled and she turned her face and began to quietly cry.

“I am not,” she sobbed quietly, her voice trembling and making it hard for me to understand her. “H—he called me to his ch-chambers and I went…”

I slowly let my hand fall to my side and felt a pang when she flinched at the movement. I had never seen Stjarna cry and even if I was angry at her, suddenly I felt regret because I knew I was the cause.

“Stjarna…” I said, trying to soften my voice. She seemed so delicate now, suddenly so fragile.

“He was drunk,” she wept. “He wanted to lie with me to m—make you jealous, but I did not want to, but h—he would not listen…”

And then it was not overwhelming regret I felt, but rage—and not aimed at Stjarna this time.

Something inside me seemed to snap and I dropped the brooch and heard it clatter on the stone floor—the brooch, everything, seemed so silly now. I grabbed her arms and pressed her roughly against the wall, hoping I had misheard—for Thor’s sake, hoping that I had misheard.

Stjarna gave a little cry and I saw the terror in her eyes when she looked up at me.

“What? What did you say?” I growled.

“Loki,” she whimpered fearfully. “What are you—”

“What did Thor do?” I demanded roughly. It was difficult for me to remain impassive at merely the thought of him forcing her, even though I had envisioned it myself so many times. 

“H—he tried to make me—”

“Did he?” I insisted, almost desperately now. I silently begged her to say no; I could not bear to imagine Thor forcing her legs apart and taking from her what she would not give freely even to me.

She shook her head and a sob welled up in her throat. “No… he let me leave…”

“Did he touch you?” 

Stjarna looked away from me when I asked that, essentially confirming it for me.

“Did he?” I demanded again, taking her chin in my fingers and forcing her to look at me.

She only gave a little nod, eyes brimming with tears, and then suddenly it was as if every fiber of my being was on fire, every bit of me set alight with this black and insatiable rage.

I had to get to Thor.

And so I left Stjarna, who stood there still weeping, without a word.

Thor should have been in the training yard. This morning was one of his times to train, but he was not there.

“Where is he?” I demanded of the nearest Einheri. “Where is Thor?”

The Einheri gave me a quick and nervous bow, noticing my surely feral expression. “We know not, Your Highness. Prince Thor did not come to the yard this morning.”

I had spun around before he’d even finished speaking.

I could barely concentrate for the rage I felt as I drew closer to Thor’s chambers, for surely that was where he was. I felt such anger at him, that he should dare touch her, dare force himself on her. Anger at myself, that I had allowed this to happen by doing what I had done.

I had wanted to take Stjarna wholly, possess every part of her completely and unreservedly, and show her the pleasure that could be had in one’s body, for obviously that Van fool had only looked to her to slake his own lusts. I was base, admittedly, but not so much that I did not wish to bring her to culmination so many times beneath me she could but breathe.

But now I had all but lost that chance. I cursed my idiocy and my insensitivity, how I could have possibly thought she had lain with him of her own volition. She could barely stand being touched by me, so why would she have gone to Thor to spite me like that? It made no sense, but I had been blinded by my own anger and somewhat by jealousy. 

There was no doubt in my mind now that Stjarna and I were past all now. There was no coming back from this. Not after what I had done.

But I could not think on that now. There was only Thor.

I felt a surge of hatred just coming upon his chambers, knowing he was in there. He had to be; the doors were closed and the two Einherjar stood guard outside.

“I would speak to my brother,” I said through gritted teeth.

The two Einherjar quickly and silently admitted me, glancing at each other in alarm as I brushed past them.

Thor was sitting in a chair before his fireplace. Upon hearing my footsteps, he immediately stood up.

“Brother—”

He did not finish.

Before Thor could react, I drew my arm back and drove my fist, heated with seidr, into his face.

He was thrown back violently and tumbled into the chair, knocking it over. He lay prostrate on the floor for only a moment before clambering to his feet. He did not move to retaliate, which, even in my anger, I thought odd.

“You bastard! You fucking bastard!” I shouted. “What did you do? What did you do to her?”

“What, your Vana?” he said with a slight smile, despite the fact that I had just punched him in the face and sent him sprawling. “Did Svienófridr not tell you?”

“You did not lie with her,” I snarled, “though you tried to.”

“You’re right,” he acquiesced easily enough. He looked away from me, smirking. “I wish I could have, though. You should have felt her. Have you before? I think she said she had never lain with you. Is that true?”

Thor only narrowly avoided my fist again, but I spun around and brutally elbowed him in the stomach; he doubled over with a loud groan and I took the opportunity to grab a fistful of his hair and viciously bring my knee up into his face. There was a cracking sound and his head was thrown violently back.

Blood exploded from his nose and he cried out in pain. But Thor, always so infuriatingly durable, gathered himself rather quickly.

I went at him again, but he deftly avoided my fist, twisted around, and shoved me so hard that I stumbled forward and fell right into the wall. I turned around, enraged, but he was upon me in an instant. He pressed his forearm against my throat, right under my chin, and pushed my head up. He put his other hand on my shoulder, holding me there and himself away from me so I could not knee him in the groin or land a debilitating blow to his side with my fist.

I brought my hands up and dug my fingers into his arm, trying in vain to dislodge him, trying to twist out from under him, but Thor had always been stronger than me and I could not budge him.

“What the fuck are you doing, Loki?” he growled. Blood dripped down from his nose and ran into his mouth, coloring his teeth red and drenching his beard.

“You did not lie with her!” I hissed, tightening my fingers on his arm.

I saw the corner of his lips twitch upwards in a smile.

“Why did you do it?” I demanded. “Why did you summon her and send—”

He bared his teeth and cut me off. “I would have you know, Loki,” he said hoarsely. “I would have you know what it is like.”

“What the fuck are you—”

“Áraedibrýnn!” he screamed, pressing his forearm even harder against my throat. I gasped for air. Thor stared at me for a moment, watching my face, before he violently released me. I sucked in a deep breath and bent over as he took a step back.

“Áraedibrýnn?” I breathed, slowly rising back up.

I remembered her. Thor’s last mistress—the one that had been dismissed from court for me having fucked her. A delicate, delicious little thing. I had very much enjoyed her and, despite her pathetic little protestations at first, she had very much enjoyed me.

“Áraedibrýnn?” I repeated. Now my voice rose with every word and my entire body went taut with anger. “You were going to fuck Stjarna for Áraedibrýnn?!”

“Yes! Yes!” Thor shouted. “I would have her, your precious Vana, as you took Áraedibrýnn! You had her sent away! You knew what would happen, you fucking bastard, and you did it anyway! You fucking did it anyway!”

I saw then with disgust that his eyes were tearing up and I did not suspect all of it was from his surely broken nose. Thor turned his back on me, but I did not try to attack him again. I merely stared at him, breathing hard.

“I stopped,” he said at last. His voice was quiet, but harsh. “It’s more than can be said for you, brother. You know you would not have stopped and you come here trying to act like her champion? You fool, you would not have stopped as I did, even had you been clear-headed.”

I did not bother to respond.

But I did not feel remorse for him, just as I had not felt remorse then, when he had come to me in a rage for having taken his woman, having been the cause of her dismissal from court.

All I could think of was him pinning Stjarna to his bed. It infuriated me that he might have felt her so intimately while she struggled against him, trying to push him away.

Thor spoke again, this time more quietly.

“You went to her, didn’t you?” he asked with a light chuckle. “Did you yell at her? Did you scream at her, Loki? Did you make her cry?”

I clenched my fists. But this was over. Nothing else would come of this. No need to prolong it.

“Touch her again, brother, and you’ll awake one night to find serpents in your bed,” I warned, my voice low.

With that said, I turned to leave.

But before the doors had shut behind me, I heard Thor call unsteadily, “Not the snakes again, Loki!”


	15. Part I - Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sort of flashback chapter. It depicts what happened between Thor, Loki, and Áraedibrýnn, and gives background into the conflict of chapter 14. Stjarnavetr is not in this chapter.

3 years earlier  
Loki

I was tremendously bored.

How I despised feasts. They were unnecessarily long and tedious and the talk at the high table hardly ever seemed to interest me—including tonight’s talk.

One of Father’s diplomats had just returned from Vanaheim, bursting full of salacious information concerning the Vanir court and Father had him seated at the high table with us. He always seated returned diplomats at the high table. For some reason he enjoyed hearing the gossip of the other realms, though he almost never stated his own opinion. He would listen to everybody else’s thoughts most intently, however.

Currently they were talking of King Aldregimildr and his failing health, a topic that failed to capture my interest. It was only when talk inevitably shifted to that of his son, Valdrlund, that I bothered to listen.

Týr seemed especially interested in Valdrlund, but then again, he would be. Týr was as obsessed with training as Thor, despite the fact that was how he had lost his right hand centuries ago. Apparently he had lost it in a training accident, but I had not heard much of it when it had happened, nor had many others, but it did not seem to reduce his fighting proficiency any.

“Is he a practiced warrior?” Týr inquired.

“He is skilled with a sword, certainly,” said the diplomat. “The Van prince trains daily.”

I laughed out loud and they all looked at me.

“Is something funny, Loki?” Father asked me with just the barest hint of a smile, raising his eyebrows.

“Not even Thor trains daily,” I remarked, glancing at Thor who sat next to me, who thought himself the apex of what a warrior should be. But he was not paying attention in the least bit. He was focused on something across the hall, it looked like. I scowled at him and turned back to the conversation.

“What, do you think the Van prince could best our own Prince Thor?” Týr asked. Týr, for some reason, had never much liked me and enjoyed challenging me.

I shrugged. “I only observed that Thor does not train daily. So probably.”

Týr rolled his eyes.

Mother said, “Loki, enough.” She turned to the dignitary with a smile. “What of Prince Valdrlund’s studies?”

Of course Mother should ask of books and learning.

The diplomat thought for a moment. “The Van prince is not as concerned with pursuits of the mind as he is the physical.”

Mother nodded in understanding. “Is he undisciplined, then?”

“Not particularly, Your Majesty. He is a voracious drinker, of course. Treats his mistress terribly.”

“Mistress?”

“Yes, some Vana commoner he had brought to him. He has had her in his bed for nearly a century, I heard.”

“A century!”

“Yes. They say he beats her. One of the courtiers there mentioned rape to me.”

“How awful,” Mother said quietly.

Týr only scoffed. “Rape? She is his mistress, no? How can you rape a woman who belongs to you?”

Father interjected, ignoring Týr’s idiotic outburst. “What kind of king will this Van prince be when King Aldregimildr eventually dies? What man can hope to treat his people well if he cannot even treat his whore with respect?”

I was already bored again. The plights of the mistresses of foreign princes did not interest me in the least.

There were much more exciting things sitting right in front of me.

Or rather, next to me.

I turned to look at Thor, who was not paying attention to the talk of Vanaheim. He was staring at something.

I followed his gaze and saw that he was looking at the table that held Mother’s handmaidens. It was somewhat difficult to see from here, but I eventually saw that he was looking at his mistress, a small wisp of a thing called Áraedibrýnn. She kept glancing at him and smiling foolishly. She was not remarkable, though I suppose she was pretty enough. Thor had been fucking her for six or seven years now and seemed as infatuated with her as ever.

How he could stand to have the same woman over and over was beyond me. I would have grown bored with her long ago.

I grinned and elbowed him in the side.

“Hungry, brother?”

Thor was jolted out of his thoughts and looked at me with a sly smile.

“Very,” he said, reaching for his cup of wine.

“But not for food?”

He laughed and said in a softer voice, “Not at the table. Mother might hear.”

I rolled my eyes.

I very much doubted that Mother could hear us over the dull roar of the great hall, even seated just down the table as she was. Currently, she was questioning the diplomat about the Vana queen.

“We’re meeting tonight.”

“Hmm?”

“We’re meeting tonight,” Thor repeated quietly. He was still staring at her.

“Are you?” I said, feigning interest. I looked at her. She was not looking towards us, but speaking with another of Mother’s women. “Fascinating,” I drawled.

Thor laughed. “You’re only jealous, Loki.”

“Jealous? Of what am I jealous, brother, pray tell?”

He lowered his voice, but was still smiling. “You’re upset that you’ve not got a mistress.”

“What?”

“You’re upset that you’ve not got a woman in your bed every night—”

I went to cut him off, to tell him I did in fact have a woman in my bed often enough, but he shook his head to silence me.

“No, Loki. I mean one woman. Why can’t you settle for one woman at a time?”

“Just one?” I asked incredulously. That sounded positively dull.

Thor shook his head. “Don’t you ever tire of it, Loki?”

I tried to mask my annoyance. “I am perfectly satisfied.”

But he only laughed at me and turned back to his plate.

After that, I kept glancing at Áraedibrýnn and wondered to myself how much of a burden it would be to have a mistress. It seemed an awful lot of trouble. You had to gift them things and talk to them and make time for them—not always for fucking, either. Yes, mistresses were a hassle; I much preferred a string of women.

My thoughts began to drift, then. Instead of thinking on the tribulations of keeping a mistress, I began to wonder what Thor’s mistress was like. I wondered what she tasted like. What she would feel like beneath me, what she would feel like coming around me.

It took only a few minutes of this for me to decide that I wanted her, despite the fact that she belonged to my brother.

I wanted her and I would have her.

But I did not want to wait. I wanted her tonight.

I had never tried to fuck one of Thor’s mistresses before. The fancy had never struck me, but suddenly the thought of dirtying what he held in such high regard seemed too tempting a thought to ignore, too dangerous a game not to play.

I said to Thor, “Where?”

“What?”

“Where are you meeting her?”

“The library.”

“The library? You don’t read.”

“We don’t read, you fool. We just meet there.”

I smirked and Thor laughed at me and took a drink of wine.

“Mind if I join you?” I asked, the beginnings of a plan already forming in my mind.

“Join me?”

“When you go to meet Áraedibrýnn. My chambers are past the library. I will walk with you there. Drop you off for your lady.”

Thor laughed and shrugged. “Alright.”

Gods, he was so stupid.

__

After the feast was over, Thor and I made our way to the library.

Áraedibrýnn and the other handmaidens would accompany Mother to her chambers first before she retired. The handmaidens would then disperse to their own chambers—or, rather, to their lover’s beds. I knew for a fact that both Týr and Baldr’s mistresses were among Mother’s retinue.

Once Thor and I reached the library, I opened one of the massive doors for him and bowed to him. “Enjoy, brother.”

“Oh, I will,” he laughed.

I only smiled.

I waited outside the doors for perhaps ten minutes before using my seidr to take on the guise of an Einheri. I entered the library and found Thor standing by a window.

He acknowledged me when I came in.

I gave him a light bow. “Your Highness, the Allfather requests your presence.”

“What for?” Thor asked.

“I know not, Your Highness.”

Thor looked conflicted for a moment. “Very well. Where is he?”

“Gladsheim, Your Highness.”

Thor sighed heavily.

Gladsheim was a very long walk from here. By the time he returned, wondering if the Einheri had made a mistake in telling him that the Allfather had summoned him, Áraedibrýnn would be gone. He would think only that she had grown tired of waiting.

I followed Thor outside and went to act as if I were moving on, but once Thor had disappeared around the corner I immediately changed into his form and stayed outside the library.

I had only been there for a few minutes, slowly pacing, before I heard her footsteps down the corridor.

Áraedibrýnn turned the corner, not the one that Thor had disappeared around, and smiled when she saw me.

“Thor!” she beamed.

She had not looked so enticing before. I had not noticed the pleasing swell of her breasts or the luscious outline of her hips beneath her dress in the great hall. It had been difficult for me to see, but now that she was standing before me, and knowing that within the hour I would be buried between those wide thighs of her, she seemed much more delectable.

She reached up to embrace me and I kissed her. She tasted like wine and honey.

“Let us go,” I said.

I grabbed her hand and began pulling her after me.

“Thor,” she laughed, “where are we going?”

She must have been curious, as this was not the way to Thor’s chambers, but mine.

But I did not wish to go there yet.

And so we had been going along for a few minutes before I stopped suddenly in the middle of a corridor.

“Here,” I announced to her.

She looked surprised. “Here?”

“Yes,” I purred, turning around. I advanced on her until her back was against the wall. We were shrouded in darkness, the light of the torches barely able to reach us here between two columns.

I had always liked fucking in places that could be so easily stumbled upon. Though I often put up an illusion, sometimes I did not. It excited me to no end, the threat of being discovered. I had been caught a few times, but always by servants who quickly scampered away, or sometimes Thor, who happened to idiotically barge into my chambers when I had a woman in my bed.

I leaned down and kissed her. I was thrilled only for a moment when she responded eagerly, reaching up to wrap her arms around my neck, before remembering that she thought it was Thor kissing her—not me.

I opened her mouth with mine and slipped my tongue in, rolling it against her own. I let my hands wander down over her breasts, kneading until I could feel her nipples harden beneath the fabric. I grinned into her mouth and she pulled away, breathless.

“What is it?” she inquired, smiling at me.

I only smiled back and moved my hands down, splaying them on her hips. I slowly began dragging myself down her body, pressing her harder against the wall.

“Thor!” she whispered frantically. “What are you doing?”

Had he never fucked her up against a wall? How unimaginative of him.

I did not reply to her, but instead grabbed the hem of her dress and began pulling it up.

“Not here, Thor! What if someone were to walk by?”

“You worry too much,” I laughed quietly.

It was not as if I was worried, on the small chance that somebody should happen to discern us here in the darkness, for it would not be me they saw, but Thor.

I pushed her skirts up until I had them bunched around her wide hips. I could feel my cock hardening at just the sight of her, at the lingering and delicious fragrance of her womanhood.

I pulled her lower half towards me and glanced up. She had her head tilted back and to the side, eyes closed and mouth slightly open. I was inwardly amused at how little of a fight she had put up, considering how horrified she had seemed just moments before at the thought of me taking her like this against the wall.

She made a little gasping noise when I pressed my face into the dark curls between her legs.

“Thor,” she murmured, tangling her fingers in my blond hair.

I put one of my hands on the back of her thigh and hiked her leg up and draped it over my shoulder, opening her up for me. I lowered my head and tilted my face up, letting my beard scrape against her inner thigh. She shuddered at the sensation.

I wondered if women liked beards. I suspected so, despite the fact that I did not have one myself. I could not grow one and never had been able to—not even stubble—which I had always thought odd. Thor, along with Týr and the others, had mocked me before for not having been able to grow one, but that was certainly no matter now.

“Thor!” she whispered harshly when my lips met with hers.

I flicked my tongue out to brush against her little nub. She curled her fingers tighter in my hair, pulling me closer. I obliged her and took her between my lips, sucking lightly. She tried unsuccessfully to contain her moan when I then moved down and rolled my tongue through her soaking folds, relishing the taste of her.

I brought my hand up and ran my fingers along her cunt, spreading her wetness around until my fingers were coated.

I could barely hold back a laugh for how easy this would be. She was practically dripping for me—or rather, for Thor—but I felt excitement, nonetheless. I was almost looking forward to her reaction at realizing whose face she really had between her legs as much as I was having her writhing beneath me.

I easily slipped my first two fingers inside of her. She arched away from the wall, pressing herself harder onto my mouth, and whispered, “Thor…”

I drew my fingers in and out of her, curling them as I knew they liked, until I found that spot inside that always seemed to send them over the edge. I pressed against it over and over, while continuing to suck and nip at her, never giving her a rest, until she was panting loudly and gripping my hair so tightly I was almost cringing for the pain.

I kept going until I felt her body tense against the wall and I could feel her insides contracting happily around my fingers, trying to pull them in deeper. Gods, I could not wait to have my cock in her, in place of my fingers. I was already straining uncomfortably so against my pants.

She slid down the wall slightly, finding it difficult to stand, and let out a little laugh for her satisfaction.

Once she had relaxed, I pulled my fingers out of her and gently pushed her leg off of my shoulder. Smirking, I adjusted her skirts and then slowly rose up until I was standing over her. With my thumb I wiped at my lips and chin, collecting her wetness there. I sucked my fingers clean, delighting in her heady flavor.

She smiled up at me, looking weary but pleased.

I lowered my head and leaned forward and kissed her deeply, running my tongue through her mouth and letting her taste herself. She responded fervently, reaching up to tangle her fingers in my hair.

I broke the kiss and pulled away, grinning widely and exposing my teeth.

And then I changed form.

In the dull burn of the green energy crackling across my body, melting away Thor’s image, I could see her contented expression transform into one of horror. Her mouth fell open and her eyes widened.

I had to choke back my laugher, so filled was I with this wicked delight.

“No, no, no…” I could see her eyes filling with tears as she repeated that word over and over, as if her desperate little litany might make me disappear or somehow undo what had just been done.

“Yes, yes, yes,” I taunted, still grinning.

“Where is Thor?” she bemoaned pathetically. “What are you doing?”

Her voice rose with each word; she was becoming hysterical. We could not have that.

“Shh,” I whispered, leaning down to her again. I pressed my lips to hers to cut her off, but she turned her face and put her hands on my chest.

I merely cocked my head and smiled. “Come now, Brýnn.”

I raised my hand and put it on the side of her neck and stroked the column of her throat with my thumb. She had such a small, willowy neck. How I would love to wrap my hands around it.

“Where is Thor?” she whispered anxiously, still avoiding my gaze.

“Off somewhere,” I said irritably. I grabbed her chin and turned her face to mine and kissed her again, but she was still unyielding and still rigid against me. “Áraedibrýnn,” I growled.

I felt her hesitantly respond, then, probably urged by my threatening tone.

But that was enough encouragement for me.

I grabbed her hand and began pulling her behind me.

“Your Highness!” she cried, sounding on the verge of tears.

My chambers were not far off. I had brought her so close for this very reason, for I had expected there to be some sort of resistance. I was almost always able to overcome that, though. I could tell, just from what had transpired so far, that Áraedibrýnn would not put up much of a fight.

We came to my door and I opened it and stepped inside. I tugged at her but she pulled away and stood in the corridor, wringing her hands and nervously looking around.

“Stop dithering about,” I said curtly, grabbing for her wrist. I dragged her into my room, shut the door, and then led her into my bedchamber. This time she did not try to pull away, which somewhat surprised me. Once in my bedchamber, I turned on her and grabbed her face and kissed her, only now allowing myself to fully acknowledge how unbelievably hard I was. I had to get inside of her.

I began pulling at her dress.

“Your Highness!” she gasped, putting her hands on my chest.

I pulled away, somewhat annoyed.

“What?” I snapped.

“Why are you doing this?” she whimpered. She was wringing her hands again.

“I want you,” I replied. It was simple enough.

“But I am with Thor,” she said desperately.

I cocked an eyebrow and smirked. “You seemed to like my tongue in your cunt well enough.”

She let out a worried breath and looked away from me. I could see the color rising in her cheeks. It made her look so pretty.

“Come now, Brýnn,” I said in what I hoped was a cajoling manner. “Will you not do as your prince commands?”

Before she could reply, I reached out and wrapped my arms around her. My fingers flew over the lacings down her back. I had always wondered why women wore such infuriatingly complicated gowns. Why could you not just tug at one lace and pull the entire thing off? Sometimes there were bands and laces and then others had sashes and belts and it was all too complex. Luckily, Áraedibrýnn’s dress was fairly straightforward. Within a minute, for I had had much practice before, I had the back of her dress open.

At fucking last.

She closed her eyes in shame as I grabbed two fistfuls of her skirts and pulled her dress up, exposing her wide thighs and belly and ample breasts until it was over her head and I letting it fall to the floor next to me. Now she only stood there in her shoes and stockings. I drank her in, this supple little creature that Thor saw—that he tasted—nearly every night.

I took her hand, which was sweaty, I noticed, and led her to my bed.

“Go on,” I smiled, resisting the urge to shove her onto it. I felt as if I were about to burst already.

She stared down at it and brought her arms up over her chest.

No, no, we’d not have that.

I pressed my hand to her back, urging her. She stumbled forward and caught herself and slowly climbed onto it. She sat down and pulled her knees up and watched me undress, her expression guarded.

I did it quickly, for my pants were fast becoming unbearably tight. I hastily shrugged out of my surcoat and boots and the rest of my under layers and left them discarded on the floor. Once I was divested of all clothing, I eagerly crawled onto the bed and knelt in front of her. I grabbed both of her ankles and tugged them down, straightening her legs out.

I reached out and began taking her shoes off. I kept glancing up at her, but she was staring expressionlessly at my fingers as I undid the little buckles and slipped them off of her feet. I pushed her shoes off the side of the bed and then reached up to take her stockings off. She flinched when I touched her, but I ignored it and began to slowly roll them down her calves, letting my fingers brush over her skin. Once they were both off, I tossed them off the bed.

She did not try to stop me when I rose up and pushed her legs apart with my knees. I crawled over her and leaned down, supporting myself above her with my forearms and keeping my full weight off of her, as she was quite small and appeared delicate.

I pressed my hips forward, letting my cock brush against her. She let out a little gasp and tensed up, trying unsuccessfully to close her legs on me. I only chuckled lightly before lowering my head and burying my face in between her neck and shoulder.

“You act as if you will not enjoy this,” I murmured, giving her earlobe a small nip before turning my head to kiss the side of her neck. “Can’t you feel how hard I am for you?” I whispered, slowly rubbing my length up and down her cunt.

That seemed to do it. She made a small whimpering sound and then lifted her legs up, however hesitantly, and wrapped them around my own.

I grinned widely, moving my face to hers and kissing her on the lips, perhaps to assuage some of her fears. I could feel her heartbeat. She was terrified, but not of me, exactly, which I would have been all but thrilled to amend, but at the thought of betraying Thor. At the thought of being here in my bed and not his. What an admirable, albeit a weak and pathetic, trait loyalty was. I was glad she was so easily swayed.

I had before tried to entice some of Frigga’s women into my bed, but they had held out surprisingly well, moaning about their honor and virtue and other womanish nonsense and they had not given in to me. But I was no brute; I would not take a woman against her will, though I may have fantasized about it. Of course, I would be persuasive as possible, perhaps roughly insistent, if they were particularly strong-willed.

Luckily little Áraedibrýnn was not.

I curled my fingers in her hair and pushed my tongue past her lips, moving it leisurely throughout her mouth. Much to my pleasure, she responded.

I broke the kiss, rose up off of her, and pushed her legs further apart, feeling the slickness on my skin from her deceptively gotten arousal. I reached between us and guided myself to her entrance, barely able to keep myself from driving into her. I was on fire, needing to be inside of her, but I wanted to enjoy every bit of this.

It was not every day that I could fuck Thor’s woman.

I shallowly entered her, keeping my eyes on her face. I always loved watching their faces when I first came into them.

Slowly, so slowly, I pushed forward into her. She let out a breathy whimper, squeezed her eyes shut, and brought her hands up and dug her fingernails into my arms. I smiled to myself. Loyal mistress, indeed.

I groaned when my pelvis hit the soft flesh of her inner thighs. She felt so good around me. I wanted to savor this, savor her as Thor did. I wanted to feel her as he felt her. And I was. Oh, the very thought made it all the better.

Now fully buried inside of her, I languidly circled my hips, rubbing myself on that little bud of hers that I’d lavished on not half an hour before.

And as I began to draw in and out of her, the pace of my rhythm increasing, I leaned forward and grabbed one of her hands and twined our fingers together. They seemed to like it when I did that. I suppose it made them feel like this was more intimate—that it meant something to me.

After I’d been moving in her for a while, building us both up until I was sure she was near to coming completely undone—it was not too difficult to perceive from the way she was arching under me and moaning and digging her nails into my skin and raising her own hips to meet my thrusts—I slackened my pace and said breathlessly, “Brýnn… say my name.”

She opened her eyes and looked up at me. But she made no move to say it.

I smiled and said, “You don’t want to, do you?”

I thrust into her hard; she gasped and I held myself there, unmoving.

“You won’t say it, will you?” I asked, barely able to contain myself. Oh, I was excited now.

I stared at her for only a moment longer before pulling out of her. I dug my fingers into her hips and flipped her over and slid back into her in one movement.

She gasped loudly and gripped the bedcovers.

I did not begin moving in her immediately, but leaned down and pressed my front to her back, feeling the slickness of her sweat. I moved her mass of dark hair away from her neck and kissed her shoulder blades and ran my tongue along her skin, tasting the sweetness of it.

And then I began slowly rolling my hips. She moaned and I pressed my face into her spine, biting back my own groan, my breaths hot on her already flushed skin.

I reached beneath her, running my fingers down and under until I felt that engorged little bud of hers. She sucked in a deep breath as I began rubbing it. I only kept this up for a minute before I pressed my cheek to hers and ceased the nearly lazy movements of my hips and my fingers between her legs.

She whimpered something as I put my lips to her ear.

“Say my name, Brýnn,” I whispered, giving her a little thrust to remind her where she was, to remind her who she had strayed for, willingly or not.

She opened her eyes and turned her head to look at me, lips parted. She did not want to. Though she had opened her body to me, however hesitantly, saying my name, with me buried so deeply inside of her, and my fingers between her legs, would be the final act of submission to me, her lover’s brother. She would not say my name if she could help it. She was still holding onto that last little shred of dignity. Such fun I would have in cutting it.

She closed her eyes and only lay there.

I was so close to bursting—I could already feel the beginnings of it boiling in my gut—but I would hold off as best I could. I began playing with her again, running my fingers languidly through her slick folds.

She went taut beneath me and began panting.

“Go on, Brýnn,” I breathed, kissing the back of her neck and stilling my fingers when I felt her insides beginning to quiver around me, encouraging me to push her over that precipice. But I would hold her from it as long as I could, if only she would give in to me completely.

I wanted to hear my name pour from her lips before I brought her to climax. I wanted her to remember me taking her from behind like this, to remember my breath hot on her neck and my cock buried between her legs. I wanted for her to remember saying my name when Thor fucked her and even as she cried his name out, she would remember that she had said my name, too.

She was so close; I could feel it in the way she felt around me, but still she did not say my name. Perhaps she was not as easily swayed as I thought. I was becoming irritated now. She was not only keeping herself from reaching that peak, but me as well.

I let out a frustrated growl and rose up off her, bringing my fingers out from beneath her and wrapping my arm around her torso, under her breasts. I lifted her up and she gasped as I yanked her up into a kneeling position, my front pressing into her back.

I grabbed a fistful of her hair and wrenched her head back, exposing her throat. She gasped in pain, which only inflamed me. I pressed my lips hard to the side of her neck and dragged my teeth across her soft skin, wanting so badly to break the flesh and draw blood.

I began moving in and out of her, my strokes nearly languorous, and let my hand descend once more between her legs.

“Say it,” I growled.

But she did not.

It was only when I drew my fingers out from between her thighs and pulled out of her almost completely that I was able to obtain any sort of reaction.

Immediately, she gasped, “Loki!”

I felt a brief flare of excitement.

“Now that was not so hard, was it?” I murmured, somewhat in derision.

I kissed her neck before releasing her hair and giving her a little shove forward. She caught herself on her forearms right before I dug my fingers into her hips and plunged back into her. She cried out and clutched at the bedcovers—anything she could hold on to, as I began pounding into her, driving hard and deep.

She pressed her face into the bed, trying to stifle her desperate little gasps, and I not bothering to try to suppress my own heavy breaths each time the flat of my hips slammed against her backside. I dug my nails deeper to hold her still; even with her holding so tightly onto the bed, she irritatingly kept moving forward.

As I thrust into her, I stared down at her back, glistening in sweat.

I wanted so badly to dig my fingers into her skin, to mark and to bruise her. I had not even thought of doing that yet. I’d been too preoccupied with getting her to utter my name.

I put my hand on her back, never breaking my rhythm, and ran my hand down her spine. A pale and fleshy canvas laid so tantalizingly bare for me to paint with bruises and to score with my teeth.

I very much enjoyed doing that to them, though I did not do it often anymore.

But if I indulged myself Thor would see and I did not wish him to know just yet. I wanted to draw this out. I wanted little Áraedibrýnn to think of me when she lay with him next and she could not hold up that charade long if I marred her body and Thor saw the very next day and came to me in a rage.

I blinked, drawn out of my little fantasy, when I heard her moan and grip the scarlet bedcovers so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

She came around me with a loud cry and buried her face into the bed, trying in vain to hold back her loud panting. The feel of her around me, her insides trying to draw me further into her, brought me higher and higher and finally it sent me over the edge. I could not control it anymore, even if I had wanted to. But I did not try to hold it back this time. I let it take me.

The heat that had been boiling in the pit of my stomach and between my legs exploded, rising up and bursting out of me in hot waves. I squeezed my eyes shut and my mouth fell open in a silent groan as I dug my fingers deeply into the flesh of her hips, pinning her to me. The edges of my mind faded to black and for those delicious few seconds, the crashing waves threatened to drag me down into oblivion. My entire body went numb and I could not hear and I could not see, only feel, and I all I could feel was her around me, pulling and pulling, meaning to take everything I had to give.

The waves subsided slowly and I cracked my eyes open. I could feel the lingering tremors of her own climax just beginning to fade and her insides easing their searing grip on me. I let go of her hips, my fingers aching for how tightly I had been holding her, and leaned forward onto her, pressing her down into the bed.

I lightly kissed her shoulder, savoring the now diminishing warmth in my lower half.

“Did you like that, Brýnn?” I whispered against her skin.

I certainly had.

She only let out a tired breath in response, but I knew she had.

I pulled out and rolled off of her.

I turned onto my side and splayed my fingers on her back. I trailed my fingertips down her spine, down to her buttocks, and let my fingers slip once again between her legs, feeling with some sense of depraved triumph the slickness of my release coating the inside of her thighs. There was a satisfying and dirty pleasure to it, that I should intrude so upon what was Thor’s, marking what was his with my seed, that I should leave it there dripping out of his beloved little mistress.

I cupped her sex and mouthed the runes and felt the heat of my seidr in my hand.

Eir had taught me this spell, meant to wither a man’s seed inside of a woman, long ago. Since then I had used the spell on all the women I fucked.

Once the warmth faded from my hand only a couple of seconds later, I pulled my fingers out from between her legs and noticed with displeasure that I had badly bruised her hips. I hoped she would be able to hide them until they faded, as much as I enjoyed seeing my handprints darkening her skin. I did not want Thor finding out too soon.

“You did not answer me earlier,” I said.

Slowly, she turned her head to gaze at me. She looked confused.

“Your Highness?”

“Did you like it?” I asked.

I never asked them that. I was not particularly concerned if they liked it or not, though I certainly did like watching their expressions when I brought them to peak. I liked seeing them come undone beneath me; it was almost as satisfying to me as marking or bruising their bodies.

But this was different.

This was Thor’s woman.

I had to know what she thought, though I felt foolish for having inquired.

She bit her lip and was silent for a long moment. When she spoke, her words surprised me.

“You want to know if I would lie with you again?”

That was not necessarily what I wanted to know, but it was better than me begging her to tell me if I compared at all to my brother.

I nodded.

She said tentatively, as if the words pained her, “I would.”

I felt a bloom of triumph, then. It thrilled me that Thor’s not-so-loyal little mistress would lie with me again. Not that I would be interested in fucking her after tonight, though.

I wondered to myself if Thor knew how to please a woman as I did. I wondered if anybody had showed him how, as I had been shown. I wondered if he ever got the urge to bruise and score their bodies, to hurt them, as I did—as had been done to me.

Suddenly, Áraedibrýnn began sliding off the bed. I grabbed for her wrist.

“What are you doing?”

She looked at me in surprise. “I suspected that His Highness would wish me to leave—”

“No. You may stay if you wish.”

I almost always let them remain the night, if they wanted. As much as I loathed to admit it, I liked it when they stayed. And if she did, I could have her a few more times before the morning came.

It looked for a moment as if she were seriously considering staying, but then she shook her head. “I would return to my own chambers, Your Highness.”

I let her wrist go, feeling only the faintest sense of disappointment.

She got off the bed and picked her dress and stockings and shoes up off the floor. I pulled myself up and watched her dress. She came to me and turned around wordlessly so I might help her retie the laces that I had opened earlier. I did so. She turned back to me, bowed her head slightly and said, “Your Highness.”

And then she left, not even bothering to look back.

I lay back on the bed after she had shut the door and stared up at the ceiling.

And then, as I knew they would, my thoughts inevitably drifted to her.

That was why I liked it when they stayed. I did not think of her when I had another warm body in my bed.

Her.

My fire-headed demoness; my most beloved and despised tormentor, my cruel and loving witch.

I did not think about her as much as I used to. It had been so long ago, but sometimes I could not help but to imagine her again, to remember. Sometimes I could not help but to want it again.

I let my hand drift between my legs. I was already cursedly half-aroused from just the thought of her, even after having just emptied myself into another body. I brought my hand back up to my stomach, trying to will it all down.

I lifted the covers, damp and reeking of sex, and crawled tiredly under them. I lay there in the silence, trying my best not to think of her and yet, now, she was all I could think of—all I wanted to think about.

I never did have dreams of her. Only nightmares.

I closed my eyes, begging them to come.

__

Áraedibrýnn was gone from court within three weeks and it was inevitable that Thor come to me.

How Mother knew, I knew not. How when I fucked one of her women, or even a lowly servant, they were gone from the palace so quickly. But of course, it was not something I could ask her. Not that I wanted to know how she knew. Not that I really cared, anyway.

I was in the library—how fitting that was—when he found me.

It was about time. I had been wondering when he would confront me, for I had been growing somewhat impatient waiting for this.

I was seated in a window reading a book concerning Midgard when I heard the doors blow open and him scream my name.

“Here, brother,” I called, trying my best to hide my smile. I knew immediately that this was it. For some sadistic reason, my insides twisted in some terrible and eager anticipation. I closed the book, put it on the sill, and stood up.

Thor found me relatively quickly.

“You fucking bastard!” he cried, turning the corner of a shelf.

His face was nearly purple; he looked terrifyingly livid.

I took a step back, shocked, when he went right for me. He wrapped his hands around my throat and shoved me up against one of the bookshelves next to the window. The shelf dug painfully into my back and I reached up to try to pry him off of me.

“Bastard! Bastard!” he hissed, tightening his grip.

“Thor!” I gasped, digging my nails into his hands.

I certainly had not expected this.

He drew one of his arms back, holding me there with one hand, and clenched his fist. I broke free of him just as his fist collided with the books where my head had been, crushing their spines and ruining them completely.

He spun around, murder in his eyes.

“She is gone! Gone from court, dismissed, and nothing I can do about it! You! Because of you, Loki! She told me, she told me all right before she was set to leave!”

He tried to punch me again and I only narrowly avoided it, feeling a burst of fear in my gut as I dodged his blow and slipped sideways, moving around a table to put something between us. I did not doubt that he would break it to get at me, though.

But Thor only stood there now, clenching and unclenching his fists, glaring at me. I could see the cords standing out in his neck, see the vein beating in his temple, the tightness of his jaw. I had never seen Thor so angry.

And I daresay that I liked it.

I gave a small, nonchalant shrug. “It was only a short fuck.”

And then it was as if, suddenly, all the fight had gone out of him. Thor slumped backwards and rested against a bookshelf. He lifted his head up, eyes closed and mouth slack. He ran his hand over his face and shook his head as if in defeat.

“Why did you do it, Loki?” he asked pitifully. “Why did you do it?”

I stared at him for a moment, tensed for some sort of sudden attack. But he almost looked broken, leaning there against the shelf. He looked on the verge of tears.

I opened my mouth and hesitated. “I… I felt like it,” I said.

And that was all there was to it.

Because I felt like it. Because the fancy had struck me and it was almost like a game. I had played and I had won. For once, I had won.

And looking at him, I did not feel sorry.

He’d find a new mistress soon enough.

He would get over it.

I went to the window, picked up the book I had been reading, and turned and took a hesitant step forward. I braced myself, waiting for him to reach out and grab me. But he did not. He was still limp against the bookshelf, hand over his eyes. I saw that his cheeks were wet.

I made my way towards the doors and left him there without looking back.


	16. Part I - Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter resumes where Chapter 14 left off.

Stjarnavetr

Loki did not speak to me of what had happened after he had stormed from my chambers that morning, after he had coerced from me that his brother had tried to take me. But I did not ask. I am not entirely sure I wanted to know what he had done.

A few days later I even returned his brooch, retrieved from my bath chamber floor where he had dropped it. He did not say anything or try to stop me when I laid it gently on the table, which I was grateful for. I suppose I thought that he would try to argue with me, stop me from doing this. But he did not.

And so our seidr lessons resumed, though they were not as they once had been. We only spoke to one another if it concerned seidr. We did not smile or laugh as we once had, before all of this. I came to dread every morning I spent in his chambers and I am sure he did, too.

Our lessons passed in this manner for perhaps a month until one day I entered his chambers and found him sitting at his table, hands clasped in front of him. He was waiting for me and he looked rather excited, which immediately put me on edge.

“I have a surprise for you, Stjarna,” he announced elatedly, once I had shut the door behind me.

I almost turned around and walked back out. But I stood there, my eyes scanning him, and then his chambers, suspiciously. Slowly I seated myself across from him.

“What is it?” I asked warily.

But Loki only smiled at me, looking as if he could barely contain himself.

“We’re going to Midgard,” he said.

I was not sure I had heard him correctly. “What?”

“I asked Mother and she spoke to Father—wore him down, I suspect. How it would be an educational experience, seeing other races and cultures, all that nonsense. Of course the seidr lessons would continue—”

“Midgard?” I interrupted him.

He looked slightly irritated at having to repeat himself. “Yes. Midgard. I—”

“With a party?”

“No. It would just be us.”

I stared at him.

“No.”

“What?”

“I will not go to Midgard with you,” I said incredulously. How could he possibly delude himself into thinking that I would agree to this?

He pressed his lips together, either in annoyance or anger. He fought to keep his voice steady. “And why is that, Stjarna?”

Did he truly not know why?

I said scathingly, “I do not want to go anywhere with you, least of all to another realm.”

“It has already been decided,” he responded tightly.

“Then undo it,” I shot back. “I will not go. They already call me Whore of Vanaheim and many think us lovers. Now I will be Whore of Three Realms!”

Loki merely smirked. “Well, if they think you my mistress already—”

“But I am not!”

I almost expected him to say, “Would you like to be?”

But he only said, “So?”

I stared at him, astonished at his ignorance.

“Of course you have nothing to lose,” I snapped.

He looked affronted. “What are you talking about?”

I bit my tongue. I could not say the things I was thinking. Despite my anger, I was still only a handmaiden and he the prince.

And so I only reiterated, “I will not go.”

Suddenly, Loki lost all semblance of control. He shot up out of the chair and it flew backwards and crashed to the floor. I recoiled in my chair, even on the other side of the table. He leaned forward and gazed down at me with enmity.

“You will go,” he growled.

But I would not be intimidated by him. Not again, no matter how daunting he tried to make himself. I rose out of my own chair and pulled myself up. “No.”

“Do you not understand, Stjarna?” he hissed. With that, he drew back and came around the table, eyes trained on me. I moved out of the way of the chair and took a few steps back, heart thundering in my chest. He stopped short of me and said, voice rippling with irritation, “Can you not see? I am trying to—to make it—this—up to you. Can you not see?”

My lips parted in surprise.

I was not sure what to say and so I only stood there, eyes wide. He thought by taking me to Midgard he was erasing the grief caused by me seeing him with that girl, erasing the damage done by his coming to me when he thought I had lain with Thor? What a strange and small place a man’s mind was.

Yet, I still only felt anger for his ignorance and hatred for him.

“You think by taking me to Midgard, you are making this up to me?” I demanded. And suddenly I could no longer hold it back. I could feel the heat rising in my chest and face, warming my skin. My own voice, which rose in volume with each word, drowned out the sound of the warning ringing in my ears. “You are a fool, Loki! You are arrogant and vulgar and thoughtless! A spoiled brat prince, to be obeyed in all things!” I took a step towards him, leaning forward. “You think by merely being the Allfather’s son you are entitled to whatever you want. Well, you are not and I will be damned if you think you can simply drag me halfway across the universe to make up for you having fucked some—”

“Enough.”

Loki did not scream or shout. But the word sliced the air, right through my impassioned tirade, and I immediately fell silent.

I cursed myself. How many times had I done this? Spoken without thought, so carelessly to him? The prince! Why could I not keep my mouth shut? But if only he would not do this to me, if only he did not make me so angry. Why did he always do this?

Loki said quietly, dangerously, “You will not speak to me like that, Stjarna.”

I drew myself up, in spite of my apprehension. “Then do not treat me as if I am yours to control, Loki. I am not a plaything to be dragged around the universe on your whims.”

Loki stiffened and simply stared at me, as if he did not know what to say. He glowered at me and advanced until he was quite close. But I did not cower. My anger helped me to stand upright and meet his livid gaze without flinching.

“I am prince of Asgard,” he said, his voice brimming with threat, “and I will drag you anywhere I damned well please.”

And then, before I could even think on what I was doing, I drew my arm back and struck him full across the face, seidr unconsciously coiled in my palm. There was a loud cracking sound when the flat of my hand met with the side of his face and his head was thrown violently to the side.

It was as soon as I hit him that my rage was instantaneously consumed by a revoltingly powerful wave of fear.

I had just struck the prince of Asgard. With seidr, no less.

I froze and stared at him in horror, eyes and mouth wide open. I covered my mouth with my hands and immediately took a few cautionary steps back.

Loki stood there for a long, horrible moment. I could see the red of my handprint already blooming on his pale cheek, see the muscles in his jaw and neck tense, see him clench his fists so hard that his knuckles turned white and his arms shook.

Slowly he turned his head to me and I felt as if I were about to vomit.

His eyes.

They were not his.

Too late did I realize my mistake.

“Your Highness,” I whispered, keeping my eyes on his face. “Please forgive me…”

But I could not bear hold his gaze any longer. I quickly lowered my head, trying to control my panicked breaths. I stared at the stone floor, unable to look up at him again, too afraid to meet his stare.

All was dreadfully silent. I could not hear him breathing. I could not hear anything save for my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

Oh, what had possessed me to strike the prince of Asgard? No matter how he spoke to me, or how he infuriated me, I was nothing. I was still just a ward of the queen and now I had just physically assaulted one of the royal family.

I managed to gather enough courage to glance up.

Loki was walking towards me and his expression was utterly terrifying. His lips were pulled back, exposing his teeth, and his eyes were feral; the black had all but consumed the pale green.

I quickly went backwards, retreating from his advancing form until my back hit his door. But he did not stop. He kept coming until he seemed to tower over me. I shrunk back against the door, feeling a cold sweat break out over my body. It looked as if he were about to kill me.

“Loki,” I nearly whimpered.

My shaking fingers found the door handle next to me, but when I went to grab it, Loki’s hand shot out. He firmly gripped my wrist, jerked my arm upwards, and pinned it next to my head. And then, much to my horror, he reached up with his other hand and wrapped his fingers around my throat, digging his nails into my skin. Immediately, my free hand flew up to try to dislodge his hold on my neck.

“Loki,” I whispered frantically.

He leaned in closer and glared at me, his eyes dark and flashing. I could see with unease the faint shuddering of his body; it looked as if he were using every bit of self-restraint he possessed not to explode.

“You would strike me?” he growled menacingly, tightening his hands around both my throat and wrist. I stiffened against the door and my insides seemed to turn to water.

When I did not respond to him, Loki leaned back slightly. His gaze slid down to my lips and he stared unnervingly at them. He shifted his hand on my neck and, with some sense of alarm, I felt him scrape his thumbnail down the column of my throat. He then loosened his grip on me and slid his open palm down my chest and for an awful moment, I thought he was going to put his hand on my breast, but he curled his fingers instead and took a handful of the fabric of my dress in his hand.

Suddenly, he yanked me forwards and I collided with his front. I clutched at him with my free hand, for he still held my wrist; my legs shook and I was barely able to hold myself up.

His eyes, still dark, still terrifying, flickered back up to mine. He pressed his lips together. It almost appeared as if he were contemplating something.

My heart was thundering in my chest; he had to be able to feel it, pressed so closely against me, but this contact was not intimate. My very flesh was repelled and I wanted nothing more than to disappear, to be gone from here and away from him.

“Loki,” I whispered again.

And then he blinked and it was as if the darkness had gone.

His eyes widened almost imperceptibly, as if he were seeing me for the first time, seeing himself holding me like this—seeing my frightened expression.

Abruptly, he released my wrist and thrust me backwards. I stumbled and fell back against the door, legs trembling and hands raised in supplication.

But Loki was already turned around and stalking towards his bedchamber. He disappeared from sight and then I heard his bath chamber door slam so powerfully that I imagined I could hear the wood of the door crack.

My legs gave out, then, and I quickly slid down the door, my hands frantically seeking the stone floor for support. I lay there for a few moments, trying to swallow the sobs I felt rising in my throat, trying to nervously contemplate what had just happened.

Suddenly, even from here, I heard something from within his bath chamber loudly shatter.

It only took a moment for me to stagger to my feet and throw open the door. I did not want to be here when he came out.

I made my way quickly to my rooms and, upon shutting the door behind me, stumbled to my bed and gratefully collapsed onto it. I did not cry, though I certainly felt like it. I only lay there, arms wrapped around myself.

I was here in the safety of my own rooms and yet I was still absolutely petrified.

I had never seen Loki like that. I was not sure I had ever seen that look in somebody’s eyes, not even in Valdrlund’s. Loki had looked like a completely different person. That could not have been just my slapping him, could it?

I put my hands over my face.

It reminded me so much of Valdrlund.

Valdrlund did not like when I did not obey him, when I did not take his word as truth, when I did not fall begging at his feet like some of those other women. But he always came back to me, always said he loved me. I was not like the others, but he had also hated that and he would become so angry. I had never been exactly what he wanted and yet, I was enough of it for him to keep me.

I absolutely hated to think of Loki in comparison to Valdrlund. They were so different, I tried to tell myself—had told myself all this time. But perhaps they were not. Gods, I did not want to think of Loki like that. Like Valdrlund. Even now, it tore me apart to admit that yes, perhaps they were not so different from each other.

I groaned.

Let me not think of this.

I did not want to think of either of them.

I buried my face into one of my pillows and closed my eyes.

__

I must have fallen into an uneasy sleep in my grief and slept nearly all the day, for it was dark when I was roused by a loud knocking.

I sat up slowly, my head throbbing, and turned to look at the door.

I felt dread.

I knew it was him. It had to be.

Slowly, I slid off of the bed and stopped in front of my door. I hesitantly put my hand on the handle. I should have locked it and gone back to my bed, but instead I opened it and peered out into the darkened corridor.

Loki stood there.

Immediately, I searched his eyes. Even in the poor light, I could easily discern the normally clear green. I felt relief.

“Stjarna,” he said cheerfully, smiling widely at me without showing his teeth. He had his hands clasped behind his back. “I was looking for you.”

I squinted at him. Even now, two years later, Loki’s drastic and ever-changing moods never failed to amaze me. It was as if just hours before, he had not had his hand around my throat and murder in his eyes.

“Wha—”

“May I come in?” he inquired, raising his eyebrows expectantly. When I hesitated, he gave me an encouraging little nod.

“No,” I said immediately.

Loki pressed his lips together in annoyance. “Then will you open the door so I may actually see your face?”

Tentatively, I opened the door a little wider. He did not, much to my relief, try to push his way inside. He stood there, trying to look pleasant, though I could tell he disliked not being allowed admission to my chambers.

Self-entitled bastard.

“What do you want?” I asked guardedly.

Suddenly, Loki’s entire countenance seemed to change. He unlocked his hands from behind his back, no longer looking aloof, but concerned, and leaned forward slightly. “Are you alright?”

I stared at him. “Am I…?”

“Alright?” he finished for me. When I did not reply, he looked almost regretful. “I had my hand around…” he trailed off and his eyes fell down to my neck. He raised his hand, reached through the doorway, and lightly brushed his fingertips down the column of my throat.

I quickly pulled away, loathing the little tingles that raced across my skin where he had touched me.

Quickly, he let his hand drop.

“Stjarna, I… I apologize… most ardently for that… earlier…”

I stared at him, my gaze hard. Loki had apologized to me before, though I usually never thought him truly remorseful. He typically only apologized to me when he wished to placate or humor me.

“What happened?” I asked stiffly. “What happened to you?”

Loki shook his head and turned his head away from me, looking as if he were on the verge of speaking. But he closed his mouth and pressed his lips together.

So he would not tell me.

He saw my expression and his face fell a little, “Stjarna, truly I am sorry.”

I gave a wordless nod, not meeting his eyes. “Is that why you came, then? To beg my forgiveness?”

“Yes. I could not leave this to remain unspoken between us,” he said softly.

“Is there something else?” I ventured when he remained standing there, just looking at me.

“Yes. We’re still going to Midgard, Stjarna.”

“What?” I tightened my grip on the door.

After everything that had just happened, and despite his apology, did he truly think that I would consent to this? Gods, he was impossible.

“No,” I said.” I do not want to go, Loki.”

“Oh?” he raised his eyebrows, as if surprised. “But did you not yourself state earlier, Stjarna, that I am a prince and to be obeyed in all things?”

I saw the corner of his lip twitch as he fought back a smile.

I stared at him, lips parted in surprise. That he should bring that up again, that he should use it against me, infuriated me. That he could joke with me like this after everything.

“We will leave in about a month,” he continued, seemingly completely unaffected by the animosity in my gaze. “I think that ample time to prepare, don’t you?”

“I do not want to go,” I said tightly.

He tilted his head, no longer bothering to hide his smile now. It looked as if he was enjoying this. But of course he was enjoying this; he had always found pleasure in tormenting me. “Yes, well, you don’t really have a choice, Stjarna, seeing as I am your prince and I command it.”

I dug my fingernails into my palm and the door as he turned around and walked away.

Slowly I shut my door.

I knew not what to think anymore. To think that once I had encouraged him. To think that once I had wanted him. Now the only thing I felt was hatred.

Gods curse the queen, that she had put me to such a spoiled, insufferable brat. Had she really thought that I would be so willing to share his bed?

Oh, but there had been a time when I wanted to. There had been a time when I had so badly wanted him. I turned around and leaned against the door and looked at my bed. How many times had I imagined us there, longed for it all to be real?

But now I would try to ignore, to forget, the impassioned embraces we had shared before, those brief and wonderful instances when I had almost given myself to him, but had been pulled back from the brink for the fear in my heart of lying with him.

And now he was dragging me to another realm to make up for me having caught him fucking a servant.

I clenched my fists.

I spun around and yanked open the door and made my way determinedly through the palace until I came to the queen’s chambers. My heart fell when I inquired after her and was informed by the two Einherjar standing outside her doors that she was not currently within. She was with the Allfather in his own chambers.

I cursed my luck.

I most definitely would not be allowed entrance to his chambers.

Tomorrow, then. Tomorrow I would see Queen Frigga. I would tell her about Loki, tell her that I could not go to Midgard. Did she not see that it would ruin me? Her scheming was for naught; I would never lie with her infernal son and we would never become what she had hoped. I would not have it. I would not have him.

Not after what had happened. Not after today.

I touched my neck. It was as if I could still feel his fingers there. I shuddered just remembering and began pacing in front of her chambers, fuming and sick with worry. While I silently fretted, the two Einherjar watched me stoically.

I decided I would go to the queen in the morning. I would confront her—no, not confront—beg. For she was the queen and one did not demand anything of royalty. Oh, I knew that so well. When she saw how desperate I was, she would relent and I would not have to go.

Somewhat satisfied with my plan, I turned to return to my chambers, but stopped suddenly when I saw Loki leaning against a column down the corridor, arms folded over his chest.

When our eyes met, he unfolded his arms and began walking towards me. I glared at him until he stopped a few steps away from me.

“What are you doing here?” I asked hatefully.

“I was waiting for you,” he said simply, making no reaction to my tone. “I figured that you would try to come to Mother, but she is with the Allfather.”

“Yes,” I said offhandedly. “I noticed.”

“You were going to ask her to not make you go, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” I bit out.

I recoiled from him when he reached out and grabbed my hand, but he shook his head, indicating for me to be still. He stared down at my hand as he ran his fingertips across my palm.

He said softly, raising his face to look at me, “I want you to go to Midgard with me, Stjarna. I promise that nothing shall happen that you do not want.”

I looked down and watched him trace his thumb over the back of my hand. Was he trying to comfort me?

And suddenly my eyes stung with tears. It was not because I was struck by his sudden and odd regard for my worries and fears, but because there was nothing I could do to stop this. I loathed being helpless. I had been helpless for far too long. But I would go with him to Midgard, whether I wished it or not, and it would be said of me that the prince of Asgard had seduced me here and there.

Had there ever been one as promiscuous as me? Even if only in name…

“How long?” I asked quietly.

“Only a few months, Stjarna.”

My heart dropped.

“I do not have a choice, do I?” I said miserably. 

“No. But I think you will like it. It will not be as bad as you obviously think it will.” I could hear the smile in his voice. And then, “Are you still angry?”

“Yes.”

“I am sorry that you are angry,” he replied quietly. 

He then wrapped his hand around my fingers. “Come, I will take you back to your chambers.”

I shook my head and pulled my hand out of his, trying to keep my voice steady. I did not want to cry in front of him. I had already done that. I could not bear the thought of him seeing me like that again. “I am perfectly capable of finding my way back to my own chambers.”

I brushed past him but, despite my protest, he walked with me anyway. I ignored him the entire way and we did not speak at all until we had made it back to my rooms and I opened the door.

He did not try to invite himself in, but stood outside. “There will be no more seidr lessons before we depart. Our time should be spent in the archives.”

“The archives?” I repeated inattentively.

“Yes. I have been to Midgard before, though it was centuries ago. It is best if we know as much as possible about Midgard and its people now—their lifestyles and customs—before we leave. Even though we will only be there for a few months. Hirdakyn, Asgard’s archivist, will help us. You’ll like him, Stjarna.”

I gave a slight nod, not really listening.

“I will meet you there tomorrow morning?” he asked gently.

I nodded again, wishing he would leave me.

“Stjarna?”

I looked up at him.

“Thank you for this.”

I pressed my lips together. What could he possibly be thanking me for? It was not as if I were going to that accursed realm willingly with him.

But I did not wish to prolong this. I gave another small nod, looking away from him.

And then I felt his fingers under my chin, lifting my face up. Before I could react, he pressed his lips to mine. Just as I went to pull away, he broke the kiss and took a step back.

And then he turned and was gone into the darkness.

__

I did not meet Loki at the archives the next morning, as I had said I would.

I went straight to the queen’s chambers, about half an hour before the other handmaidens were to arrive.

She was sitting in front of her fireplace when I entered. I quickly bowed before her and she smiled. “Stjarnavetr. I knew you would come. Loki said so.”

I looked up at her in surprise, but quickly collected myself. “Your Majesty, I would speak with you.”

“Yes, of course,” she said kindly. “Come, sit with me.”

She motioned for me to sit in one of the chairs before her fireplace. I remembered how I had sat here two years before and been told that I would be instructing the youngest prince in seidr. Had I only known then.

But that was of no importance today.

I quickly took my seat, leaned forward and clasped my hands together, and implored, “Your Majesty, please, I cannot go to Midgard.”

The queen tilted her head slightly and smiled at me.

“But I think that it would be very good for you, Stjarnavetr,” she said softly. “It would be such a wonderful opportunity for the both of you.”

I was aghast. “Your Majesty?”

“He came for you yesterday,” she remarked.

“Came for me yesterday, Your Majesty?”

“Yes. He came to my chambers inquiring after you, but you were not here with my other handmaidens. He seemed rather distressed.”

As well he should have, after what he had done. I wondered if Queen Frigga had ever seen that. Had she ever seen her son’s eyes devoured by the blackness, seen that darkness come over him?

She smiled to herself. “Loki is not often distressed, Stjarnavetr.”

I looked down at my hands.

“May I ask where you were?” the queen inquired. “I must admit, I was a bit worried, as well.”

“I was in my chambers, Your Majesty. I felt… ill.”

I did not tell her Loki had been the cause.

She only gave a small nod.

“He cares for you,” she observed softly.

I fought the urge to snort in derision. That he wanted me there was no doubt, but it was difficult for me to believe that he cared for me. Then again, it was difficult for me to believe that he truly cared for anybody but himself.

“I know he can be difficult at times—”

Only at times?

“—but he truly does care for you. Let him do this.”

I looked up at her, shocked. “Your Majesty?”

She said, so tenderly, “It is not only for him, you know.”

I did not understand. I said as much.

“This is for you as well, Stjarnavetr,” she continued gently. “Do this for yourself.”

I felt as if I were about to burst into weeping.

Do this for myself? Go with Loki to Midgard for myself? I was being forced to go with him. How could I possibly be able to find pleasure in this?

“Myself?” I whispered.

She nodded lightly, smiling at me with such compassion. I could feel the tears well up in my throat.

“Do you trust me, Stjarnavetr?” she asked finally, when I did not say anything.

I looked down at my lap, at my tightly laced fingers. Though Queen Frigga had told Loki of my visits to Eir, she was still the woman who had taken me in from Vanaheim, the woman who had granted me refuge here. I did still trust her. How could I not, when she gazed at me so? Merely being in her presence seemed to calm me.

“Yes,” I murmured.

“Then if you will not go for yourself, will you go for me?”

My eyes widened and I looked up at her. “For you?”

She nodded once.

I only hesitated for a moment, though I felt trepidation. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

She smiled at me—it was as if she never stopped smiling. “You will be safe there, Stjarnavetr. Heimdall could pull you both up at any time.”

But it was not Midgard or its dangers that worried me. It was he who I would be traveling with.

Nevertheless, I gave a small nod.

It was decided, then.

Loki and I would go to Midgard.


	17. Part I - Chapter 17

Stjarnavetr

I tentatively pushed open the door to the archives, stepped inside, and closed the door behind me. I looked around, somewhat surprised. I had never actually been inside the archives—it was not a place one would normally visit when carrying out their daily responsibilities—and I was surprised at how similar it looked to the library.

I knew that the contents differed from those of the library, though. While the library, which was much smaller than the archives, held only mostly literature and informational volumes, the archives were home to books and objects from all across the universe and of the different realms. They were kept by a small man named Hirdakyn, who I had been told had been Asgard’s most trusted archivist for thousands of years.

I found the atmosphere pleasing and wandered around, running my fingers along the shelves and glancing over the different titles. I saw books from many of the other realms, made of materials I could not discern.

In my aimless roving, it did not take me long to find Loki seated at a table surrounded by books, who I was supposed to have met here nearly an hour ago.

When he heard me approach, he glanced up from a book he had been reading.

“You’re late,” he chided, though he did not sound serious.

“Yes,” I said flatly, feeling the resentment and dislike rising back to the surface, now that I was once again in his presence.

“Did you go to Frigga?” he inquired, though I am sure he already knew the answer.

“Yes.”

“What did she say?”

I did not respond to him. Instead, I pulled out the chair across from him and sat down. I grabbed one of the books on the table—I did not even look to see what it was—and tersely flipped the cover open.

“Careful!” cried a voice.

I looked up, startled, and saw an old man hurrying over with three large volumes clutched firmly to his chest.

“That tome is fragile!” the man said imploringly. “Please be gentle with it, Lady.”

I looked at the book. It did indeed look fragile.

Loki introduced him to me. “Stjarna, this is Hirdakyn. He keeps all of the archives.”

I looked back at the man. He was small and bent at the waist and looked as if he had lived a thousand lifetimes in the same body. But his eyes were bright and his step light.

“I am most pleased to meet you,” I said, inclining my head respectfully towards him. “And I am very sorry,” I added, motioning towards the book.

Hirdakyn only nodded and grinned and returned the gesture, as if he had not just scolded me. He looked at Loki, almost shyly, and remarked, “She is so pretty, Your Highness.”

Loki glanced at me with a small smile. “I know.”

I quickly looked down at the book and began to gently leaf through it, feigning nonchalance.

Hirdakyn, almost tenderly, put the books he had been carrying down onto the table. Loki thanked him before he shuffled off.

Loki said, “It may not look it, but Hirdakyn is very wise. He has been to nearly every realm and to Midgard at least fifty times, if not more.”

“He must know a lot about it,” I mused.

“Yes. Hirdakyn is a collector of sorts, as well. He has all kinds of objects from the different realms and he dotes over them like a parent would a child. But I would have no other advising us.”

“Have you not been to Midgard?” I inquired. I truly did not wish to speak to him, but there was no getting out of this. I would have to make do and there was no sense in pouting like a child. “Why do you need advising?”

“I have been to Midgard a few times,” he admitted, looking up at me, “but never for so long. And I was never without Thor, or both Thor and Father.”

“So I take it that none of these journeys were as disastrous as that to Utgard?” I asked dryly, holding his gaze.

When I saw Loki tense his jaw and swallow, I immediately regretted my impudence, though I secretly had meant to anger him. He had told me never to speak of Utgard—or her, his giantess. But I was not feeling so gracious towards Loki at the moment. I was still angry that I was being forced to travel to another realm with him.

“No,” was all he said, voice hard, before lowering his head.

We were both quiet for a long while before I ventured, “Does the Allfather, or the queen, not fear your wandering alone—or, even with a… companion—on Midgard?”

“Why would they?” Loki replied, not looking up.

“Would they not worry for your safety?”

“My safety?” Loki let out a small laugh. “Stjarna, both Thor and I have been to Midgard. I have done this before. Besides, it is not as if the humans actually pose us a threat.”

“Could they not?”

Loki looked up at me, almost in exasperation. “Stjarna, we are gods. Also, if something particularly horrible were to happen, which I highly doubt it, Heimdall could simply call us back to Asgard in just a few moments.”

“Yes, the queen said that,” I murmured.

“What else did she say?” Loki asked, prodding for any information regarding the conversation I had had with his mother earlier.

I thought back to it. After Queen Frigga had asked me if I trusted her, after I had told her that yes, I would go to Midgard with her son for her, she had assured me of Loki’s skills. She was confident in his ability to keep us both safe. She had been trying to comfort me, attempting to make me feel better about being forced to go. It had not worked.

“Nothing of importance,” I responded curtly, looking back down at the book I had grabbed. I glanced briefly at the runes and saw that it was about Midgard.

“What did you and Thor do on Midgard?” I asked then, somewhat curious as to Loki’s previous journeys.

“We essentially wandered around.”

“Oh. Is that what we will be doing?”

“Yes, we will be… exploring the world of the humans.” He gave me a half-smile. “And I, of course, observing. It is best that as potential future king of Asgard I see the other realms and races and such. Father also has done this before. He has taken on the guise of an old man—not that he does not already look ancient—in a blue cloak and walked through many of the realms, including Jötunheim.”

But I was not concerned with the Allfather’s past wanderings.

“What of your lessons?” I inquired, for I was not Loki’s only tutor, even if I was only a secret one. He met with other tutors throughout the week and had other lessons not of the magical kind.

“They will resume when we return,” he answered, somewhat dismissively. “But our seidr lessons will continue even on Midgard.”

“Yes, of course,” I said to myself.

At that moment, Hirdakyn returned with another stack of books. I peered at the spines and saw that they were all books concerning Midgard.

Hirdakyn picked the top book off the stack and tenderly opened it. “This one concerns the many Midgardian languages.”

“That should not concern us, should it?” I asked curiously, glancing at Loki. 

“What?”

“Their languages. We will be able to understand the Midgardians, will we not?”

“Yes,” Loki answered. 

“Even though Allspeak will allow you to understand them,” Hirdakyn explained, “would it not be wise to at least study their languages? They are so very interesting.”

“Are they?”

“Yes. Take for instance Latin.”

“Latin? Is that one of their languages?”

Hirdakyn nodded.

“Do you speak it?”

“I speak many of the Midgardian languages, my lady. Latin happens to be my favorite, though I’m afraid it is not as widespread as it used to be. I do not resort to Allspeak during my visits, you see. But perhaps you are right. There are more important things to read up on about Midgard.”

I nodded and he shambled off, presumably to fetch more books.

“I like him,” I said to Loki. “He is very kind.”

“Yes,” Loki murmured, still staring down at his book. He ran his finger along a line of words that were not runes.

And then, before I could stop myself, I blurted out, “What did you do to Thor?”

Loki’s finger came to a stop on the page.

I suddenly felt embarrassed, that I should ask him that. At first, I thought that I had not cared. I was content in not knowing what Loki had done to his brother after storming from my chambers that day, but eventually I could not help but to wonder.

Loki did not reply immediately. But then he said, “I broke his nose.”

My eyes widened and I whispered, “You broke his nose?”

Loki replied, somewhat casually, “I suspect so. It sounded like it, anyway. And there certainly was enough blood to warrant a broken nose.”

My voice was soft, hesitant. “Was he angry?”

“Yes.”

“At me?”

Loki looked up at me and furrowed his brow. “You?”

I gave a slight nod.

“No. There were other things going on, Stjarna, that… did not concern you.”

“Did not concern me?” I nearly exclaimed, astonished. I felt unnerved just remembering back to it, remembering Thor, stinking of wine, pressing me down into his bed and pushing my dress up and trailing his fingers between my legs. “He… he tried to—”

“I know,” Loki said sharply, cutting me off. And then, with some sense of heated finality, “He’ll not touch you again.”

Loki obviously intended for that to end the conversation. I gave a curt little nod and looked down at my hands.

A few minutes later, Hirdakyn returned with a stack of perhaps seven or eight books, all of them written in runes. I thanked him and spread them out before me. I chose one at random and began reading to distract myself from this uneasy silence.

And so, for the next month, every morning was spent like this in the archives with Loki. I would not go to Queen Frigga’s chambers until the middle of the day and Loki would not resume his princely duties until then, either.

Somewhat to my displeasure, I found myself eventually looking forward to the time spent in the archives. It was, first of all, a very nice change of location. I much preferred to be here than in Loki’s chambers and Hirdakyn made the experience much more pleasant than had it just been Loki and I.

I came very much to enjoy Hirdakyn’s company. He was a very gentle and intelligent man, albeit a bit strange, and both he and Loki, despite Loki’s vexing personality, got along extraordinarily well. Loki greatly admired Hirdakyn, however bizarre he might have been, and Hirdakyn seemed to absolutely adore Loki.

The two of them would sit together and Loki would ask Hirdakyn questions about Midgard and he would tell him, or us, of his journeys and advise us on what we should and should not do in certain situations and what we should expect.

Though I was still upset at being dragged to Midgard against my will and was not predisposed to learning all I could, I nonetheless kept myself busy by skimming through Hirdakyn’s Midgardian books and admiring the objects he had brought back. In his travels, Asgard’s archivist had assembled quite the collection of foreign artifacts, including books and clothing and other objects. He would stand with me while I looked, explaining what each object was, what it was used for, how he had come by it. Sometimes Loki would stand with us to observe, though he mostly kept to the books.

During all of this, I was conscious of the fact that Loki was trying his best to placate me, though I was not as appreciative of it as I probably should have been. He did not speak to me unkindly and he did not try to touch or kiss me. I think that he knew he had done me wrong and it did feel as if he were trying to make it up to me. Though, I wish he had found another way to appease me instead of forcing me to accompany him to some uncivilized planet that made books out of animal skin.

The handmaidens thought all of this especially amusing. When I came to the queen’s chambers, they would lightheartedly joke with me, calling my impending journey to Midgard with Loki a pleasure trip. They all still thought Loki and I lovers; I had long ago stopped trying to convince them otherwise, but they could not know the real reason Loki was taking me and I, of course, would never tell them. So I endured their libidinous teasing.

“I think it is wonderful,” Gullhár told me one afternoon in the queen’s chambers, soon after it had become known that the youngest prince of Asgard was preparing for a trip to Midgard, “that the prince would take you to another realm.”

“It is very romantic,” said Haegr, the latest addition to our little circle. She was young and naïve and had not seen much of men.

“Mmm,” I murmured absentmindedly, focusing on my sewing.

“Though,” Maerrhár added, “I am surprised it just the two of you. Would not it be wise to take along an Einheri for protection?”

Málvit rolled her eyes. “They cannot have a guard along with them. It is a pleasure trip, is it not? They cannot have another along to interrupt them.”

“Málvit, please,” I said irritably.

She laughed at me and put her hand on my arm. “I do not see why you are acting so dejected about all of this, Stjarnavetr. You’re going away with the prince for, how long did you say, three or four months? And you can find nothing at all to smile about?”

I merely shook my head.

There certainly was nothing to smile about, as far as I could see. Loki had promised me that nothing would happen that I did not wish, but when had his promises, his assurances, ever meant anything? Loki was a liar, I knew.

I did want to trust him—how could I not want to?—but I just could not. After all that had passed between us, I did not think it possible that I could ever trust him again. But it was not as if I had ever trusted him fully before, anyway. I had always known how he was. He was not the type to place one’s trust in. However, I did have to admit that he truly did seem to be trying hard to regain whatever it was that I had had in him back.

__

Too soon, it came time for us to depart Asgard.

I could not sleep the night before we were set to leave.

I lay awake in my bed, tapping my fingers on my stomach, fidgeting and turning over, never able to find a spot that was comfortable. All I could think of, now that it truly was upon me, was that I would be alone with Loki for the next few months in a strange realm, completely reliant on him and completely at his mercy.

The thought made me sick with worry.

These discomforting thoughts followed me into my uneasy sleep and came creeping back immediately upon my waking the next morning. I almost felt ill as I dressed myself.

I did not dress in my Asgardian clothing today, but instead in the Midgardian clothing that Hirdakyn had had made for both Loki and I under his direction.

My outfit was quite similar, though much more modest, than what I usually wore here in Asgard. There was a wool shift beneath and a simple outer gown dyed a lovely deep blue, both of which had laces on the front. The fabric, which Hirdakyn had procured from his collection of Midgardian fabric (he had, in his travels, collected the oddest things), was much rougher than what I was used to and it itched a bit, though I did not complain. I also wore a belt and ankle-high boots, both made of soft leather, as well as wool stockings and a cloak. He said that the cloak would keep us warm in cooler weather and we could use it as a blanket if we ever had to sleep on the ground. The possibility of sleeping on the ground had not—did not—appeal to me at all.

I braided my hair and put it up and covered it with a piece of fabric, for Hirdakyn had said it was not seemly for women to show their hair where we were going, which I thought ridiculous. Here in Asgard, a woman’s hair was one of her most desirable features, if not the most, but I did as he had advised and covered it.

Once I was ready, I made my way unhappily to the stables, where I was to meet Loki.

Our mounts had already been prepared by the stable master to carry us out to Bifröst, though, much to my surprise, Loki was not there yet. I had only been waiting for a short while before he appeared and begged my forgiveness for his lateness. He had been speaking with the king and queen before his departure. I, however, was more focused on his appearance.

I had not yet seen Loki in his Midgardian garb, though, like mine, it was similar to what he wore under his usual leather and metal. A tunic (dark green, at his insistence), a simple, jacket-like garment called a doublet, which came down to his hips, a pair of thin pants, and a woolen cloak. Like me, he wore a belt that held a few small leather and cloth bags, which held our Midgardian coins, given to us by Hirdakyn from his most recent trip to Midgard, and other useful little things meant to make our way easier. Loki also had a satchel slung over his shoulder. It contained an amount of bread and dried meat, and skins filled with ale, which would sustain us until we would be able to buy food and drink in a town or city.

Loki looked quite odd not clad in his leather and metal, but I supposed I also looked odd. Loki, however, did not seem to think so.

When he saw me, he smiled and said, “How lovely you look, Stjarna.”

I merely nodded as he rose up and mounted his waiting horse.

I mounted the mare that had been prepared for me and followed Loki out of the stables.

The ride out to Bifröst was leisurely.

Loki attempted to make conversation, but I was now trembling at the thought of crossing Bifröst. I had only been on it once and it had not been the most pleasant experience. Loki thought I was ignoring him, or being purposefully cold, so he stopped talking and an uncomfortable silence followed us the rest of the way to the edge of Bifröst.

Once we reached it, we dismounted and Loki greeted Heimdall, who was waiting for us.

“Your Highness,” Heimdall said. His voice was incredibly deep and almost seemed to resonate.

Asgard’s gatekeeper led us inside the huge, circular structure that adorned the end of the rainbow bridge and Loki immediately took up a spot near the opening at the end. He had done this before; he knew what to do. I tentatively stood next to him. He gave me a reassuring smile, for he noticed I was shaking.

The last time I had been standing here, or rather, had been carried through here, I had been too weak to stand and drenched in blood.

I tried to control my breathing. Loki did not notice my angst, much to my relief.

“I will be periodically searching for you, Your Highness, to verify your safety,” Heimdall boomed, his deep voice echoing, almost profoundly, all around the circular room.

“Oh, there’s no need for that,” Loki said. I could hear the slight edge in his voice, though he tried to keep his tone pleasant.

Heimdall did not respond. It had not been a question; the queen had probably ordered Asgard’s gatekeeper to do that, understandably. Loki could not keep him from it and though he seemed to dislike the idea of Heimdall sporadically searching for us on Midgard, I felt comforted at the thought. It would not seem like we were completely alone.

“I will be listening always, for your call, if you wish to return,” Heimdall explained.

“Yes, thank you,” Loki said. He was impatient to leave.

Silence.

And then, I heard the jarring and almost ominous scrape of metal against metal as Heimdall lowered his sword into the large pedestal at the center of the room. I flinched as the building whirred to life and suddenly my stomach tightened with a dreadful anticipation.

Loki looked sideways at me and grinned. 

I did not smile back. I was too fearful.

Abruptly, there was a powerful gust of air and I was unable to even draw a breath. My body was pulled violently forward and my feet left the ground. My entire body felt tight and rigid, though it almost felt as if I were floating. I could see Loki’s shadow in front of me as we barreled through this nearly blinding tunnel of light and flashing colors. I could not breathe and my chest felt tight, as if it was about to burst. I felt panicked and, just when I thought I could not take another second of this, my feet slammed into the ground.

My knees immediately buckled and I fell heavily to the ground, digging my nails into the soil and gasping for air. Loki was standing serenely next to me, looking amused.

“I thought you’d used Bifröst before,” he remarked, leaning down to help me up. I staggered against him, my legs wobbly.

I had never told him that I had been semi-conscious and half-dead at the time.

I took in great gulps of air, trying to slow my breathing. I felt quite lightheaded and for the moment did not care that I had to lean against him until I had calmed myself.

Loki, completely unaffected, looked around while I collected myself.

We were in a clearing of trees. Or rather, Bifröst had decimated a circle of trees to make the clearing. So we were in a forest. The trees were tall and wide, the air cool and comfortable.

Loki looked up at the sky, which was a lovely light blue, dotted with fluffy white clouds. Midgard only had one sun, then, and it was a bright yellow ball hanging high in the sky.

“Oh, how glorious,” Loki said to himself, shading his eyes.

“Have they no stars?” I asked, looking up.

In both Asgard and Vanaheim, the stars of distant galaxies were nearly always visible.

Loki replied, “Their stars are only visible during the night.”

“Oh.”

Once Loki was convinced that I was not going to collapse, he suggested that we begin walking.

“Where?” I asked.

“I know not. We will come upon a road eventually, I am sure.”

He seemed very nonchalant, which did nothing to alleviate my fears, but he had told me that we would be “wandering around” with no specific destination in mind. I wondered, briefly, if the handmaidens had been correct in assuming this was a pleasure trip, for there seemed to be no purpose to any of it. I assumed that was why Loki seemed so unconcerned about it all, for we had nowhere to be and no schedule to follow.

“Where are we?” I inquired.

“I spoke to Heimdall a couple of weeks ago and he said that he would set us down in a land called France.”

I gave a terse little nod and Loki quirked an eyebrow at me. “What is wrong?”

“I am just a bit nervous,” I explained.

Loki waved his hand as he stepped over a large, fallen limb. “Do not be, Stjarna. Everything will be fine.”

But soon Loki was in a rather sour mood. We had been walking for an hour or so and we were both sick of the sight of these trees and sweating profusely.

Loki muttered, “He could not have set us down in a field?”

I smiled to myself, despite my own discomfort. Loki’s irritation amused me and I imagined Heimdall laughing to himself as he watched us struggle through this forest. It was no secret that Heimdall and Loki disliked each other. I could very well imagine that Heimdall had set us down in a forest on purpose.

But Loki’s annoyance did not last long. Soon the trees seemed to thin and opened up to reveal a rutted road.

“Ah, at last,” Loki said, his frustration giving way to satisfaction. “Alright, Stjarna, pick a direction.”

“What?”

“Right or left?” he asked.

“I do not know where the road leads,” I said, dabbing my forehead with my sleeve.

“Yes, I know that. We’re not actually going anywhere. It does not matter which way we go.”

“Oh. Erm, left, I suppose.”

And so we turned left.

We had only been walking for a couple of hours, following the road along the forest’s edge, before we saw a town in the distance, nestled serenely between some small, rolling hills.

Loki commented that we should make it before nightfall. I looked up and shaded my eyes. Their sun was no longer straight above us, but nearly halfway down in the sky.

I began to grow more worried as we drew closer to the town; I could see small, dark shapes on the road ahead, many of them probably travelers like us.

“There is no need to panic,” Loki suddenly remarked, eyeing me. I had my hands clasped together and am sure I looked positively harried.

“I hope so,” I whispered.

Loki extended his arm to me, but I shook my head. Despite my apprehension, I did not want to touch him, even though he was trying to comfort me.

“Stjarna, everything will be fine,” he said, letting his arm drop.

But I was not calmed by his reassurances. I grew more and more nervous as the sky began to darken and the town loomed almost portentously ahead.


	18. Part I - Chapter 18

Stjarnavetr

We reached the town just as the sun began to dip below the horizon and the air turned cooler.

“What now?” I asked Loki, keeping close to him and pulling my cloak around me.

“We find an inn,” he said imperturbably, looking around. He did not seem too preoccupied with finding lodging, though. He was studying the houses and the buildings, glancing over the few people still walking up and down the street.

“Ask him where it is,” I said, touching Loki’s arm. I indicated a man walking in our direction.

Loki called a greeting to the man, who stopped and then came towards us. 

“Would there happen to be an inn or tavern nearby that we could stay for the night?” Loki inquired.

The man, who was fairly short, looked up at Loki, who loomed over him. He turned and pointed down the street. “Alain has got little tavern down there. He allows travelers to stay the night.”

Loki thanked the man, who nodded once and then continued on his way. 

Grateful that we would not be sleeping outside on the ground (Hirdakyn had warned us that that might be a very real possibility), I followed Loki down the street. 

The building itself was not very big and the front door was divided into two parts. The lower half was shut, but the upper half was wide open. Loki opened the lower door and we entered, drawing looks from the room’s current occupants.

The room was not terribly large and the furniture was sparse. There was a table and a few roughly hewn chairs. A fire burned merrily in the middle of the room, set in a cleared area of dirt. I looked up and saw a hole in the roof where the smoke would exit, so the room would not fill with fumes.

There was a red-faced woman sitting on a stool next to the fire, stirring something in a cauldron that hung above it. She smiled at me and I managed to smile back.

There were two children sitting near the fire, as well, and they gazed at Loki curiously, most likely gaping at his size. These little children were not the first ones to stare; many that we had passed in the street outside had glanced at Loki as we went by.

There was a bearded man, who I assumed to be Alain, sitting on a stool against the wall. He rose when we entered and said enthusiastically, “Good evening!”

“Do you allow travelers to stay the night?” Loki inquired.

“Yes,” the man replied. 

I began looking around again as Loki and Alain began speaking, studying the interior and not really paying attention to the conversation. I only turned back to Loki as he reached into one of the pouches on his belt and produced some coins and handed them to Alain. 

Alain turned and said to the woman, who I presumed to be his wife, “Jehanne, go fetch the ale, will you?”

She immediately stood up and disappeared through a doorway in the back of the room. She returned a short while later, holding a wooden tray with a few wooden cups and a jug of ale. She offered them to us and we seated ourselves on the chairs at the table.

Loki and Alain struck up a conversation, then, and Alain commented that Loki’s accent was strange. He did not, however, ask where we were from. As long as we paid him for the night, he probably did not care. Loki inquired about the building and Alain explained that it was a private residence he had turned into a tavern. His wife, Jehanne, brewed the ale and they served it to paying customers and those that paid extra could stay the night.

Before it came time to eat the stew that Jehanne was tending to, three other travelers imposed on the hospitality of the couple. Jehanne served them ale as well, and once the stew was finished cooking, she brought out nine wooden bowls and a loaf of some dark, coarse bread, and served us.

It was some sort of gruel, I saw now. It did not taste horrendous, though I certainly had had better. Loki wrinkled his nose at it, but finished it nonetheless, sopping up the last of it with his bread.

That night, we slept on the floor on a pallet filled with straw, supplied by our hosts, with our cloth or leather bags as pillows. The other travelers did the same. Alain and Jehanne and their children retired to the room in the back and Loki and I lay next to one another in the dark, the fire at the center of the room casting flickering shadows over the walls.

“So what do you think?” Loki asked quietly, turning on his side and propping his head up to look at me.

I turned my head to look at him. I tapped my fingers on my belly. “I suppose it is alright. We are not dead yet.”

Loki attempted to hold back a snort. “Did you think we would already have encountered something so serious as death?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

“See, then,” he said with a smile, “Midgard is not so bad.”

“We’ve only been here a few hours.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Loki staring at me, a small smile tugging at his lips. I looked over at him. “What?”

He gave a little shrug and rolled onto his back.

I turned onto my side, putting my back towards him and my face towards the wall. I closed my eyes and fell asleep rather quickly, despite the hardness of the floor through the pallet, and despite being too close to Loki for comfort.

__

I was awakened the next morning by Loki. He was squatting next to me and gently shaking me. I sat up and stared at him, bleary-eyed. He was holding a chunk of dark bread, cheese, and a cup of ale.

“Breakfast,” he said, grinning at me.

I wiped my eyes and brushed my hair out of my face, wondering in irritation why he was smiling so foolishly at me.

“What is it?” I asked crossly, taking the food from him.

“I’ve never seen you like this before,” he said, eyes roving over my face. “So unmade.”

My lips parted in surprise, but I quickly collected myself and tetchily took a bite of the bread. I immediately wished we still had some of the bread brought from Asgard but, unfortunately, we had eaten it all yesterday. This bread was coarse, not soft like what I was used to, but I was sure it would fill me up, even more so than Asgardian bread. I took another bite, thinking miserably on how many times I would wish during this trip that I was back in Asgard.

The cheese was not so bad. That was a small consolation. I chased it all down with the ale, which also was not so bad, and handed the cup back to Loki.

I noticed then that the three travelers who had been here the night before were already gone and the couple and their children bustling around.

“Are we leaving right now?” I asked Loki.

“Yes, we need to. Alain says the next town is a day’s walk from here.”

“Oh.”

I grabbed my belt off the floor, where I had laid it next to me while I slept, and tied it around my waist. Once I was ready, Loki thanked the couple for their hospitality and we left.

There was a very nice breeze blowing and the sun was just beginning to peek above the distant hills.

“It’s so early,” I observed.

“Yes. Hirdakyn says the Midgardians begin their days very early and retire quite early, as well.”

People were moving along the street, many more than had been yesterday, but we had come into the town nearly at nightfall. Almost everybody had been in their homes. We began walking on the road that led out of the town, headed to the next one. We were not the only ones on the road, though it was not choked with people.

“Alain said the next town is much larger. It has a monastery where we can stay.”

“A monastery?”

Hirdakyn had told us of monasteries: buildings run by men who devoted their entire lives to the god of the people of Midgard. They took in travelers and the sick and gave them food, allowing them to stay and rest for one night only.

We did eventually reach the next town and stayed there at the monastery, when we found it.

I hated it.

We were expected to take part in their religious services, which Loki observed keenly, but which I disliked. We were not allowed to speak when eating, either.

After we left the monastery, I told Loki I would not wish to stay at another one. I would prefer it if we slept instead at inns or taverns, even private residences. Hirdakyn said we might do that, also. Loki thought it amusing, but acquiesced to me easily enough. He did not mind one way or the other.

And so we walked.

Sometimes we would come upon solitary little houses belonging to peasants. Loki would knock on the door and inquire if we might spend the night. We were almost always allowed to stay, though we were expected to sleep on the floor, like that first little tavern, though not always on a straw pallet. Many of the peasants kept their animals in their homes, separated from the main room by screens. Loki assumed it was to keep the animals warm, and therefore the home, as well, for the air seemed to grow colder with each passing day.

It was not until nearly two weeks into our journey that we stayed at a proper inn and, even then, I was horrified to learn that we would be sharing beds with other travelers. I would sleep in a bed with perhaps two or three other women and Loki would do the same with the other men. Loki seemed not to mind, though; communal beds, at least for the time being on this journey, did not disgust him as they did me. He told me it was simply how things were done here.

And though I did not like the idea of it, we did not always pay for lodging.

I asked Loki once why he had gotten so little gold and silver from Hirdakyn and he replied with a smirk, “I have been to Midgard before, Stjarna. The humans, they crumble so easily. Stare at them too long and they’ll give you what you want. They won’t even notice you didn’t compensate them.”

And so I would watch, with some sense of unease, as Loki coerced an innkeeper into letting us eat and sleep there for a night, or even two or three, for nearly nothing, or for free. Loki could become an entirely different person when he wished; enticing, and yet terribly intimidating when he wanted something. It probably also helped that he seemed to tower over everybody, including the men.

It was in this way that we obtained our first private room at an inn.

I was thrilled when we came upon an inn in a large town that boasted a private room, the very first one we had come across. I demanded immediately that Loki procure it for us.

“What, do you not like sleeping with those Midgardian women?” he laughed. I did not laugh, but urged him again that he should obtain the room for us.

After a somewhat lengthy chat with the innkeeper, who did not appear to be a very resolute man anyway, and despite our travel-weary and rather poor appearance, Loki was able to acquire the room for us at below half-price.

I was thrilled at the thought of having a bed to myself—or, at least partially. Though I would never admit it, I would much prefer to sleep with Loki—alone—than share a bed with so many other people.

Loki and I ate a supper of bread and bacon, washed down with beer, and then retired.

The private room was immediately off of the main room and contained only a bed, one small table, and two poorly constructed stools.

Loki sat on the bed and announced, sounding satisfied, “Yes, I think this will do.”

My heart fell a little. I had not really expected separate beds, but it was always nice to hope. Now that it was here, the prospect of sleeping in a bed with him, I felt a bit ill.

Loki stretched out on the bed and patted the space next to him. Hesitantly, I sat down. The mattress was thin and stuffed only with hay, laid across ropes stretched tight.

“What is this?” I asked, aghast, picking at the thin cover.

“Where we will be sleeping,” Loki answered, a bit too cheerfully for my taste.

Suddenly, he pulled me down next to him. We lay on our backs, arms pressed together. I was exceedingly uncomfortable. I did not wish to touch him.

“I sleep naked, you know,” he said quietly. I was not looking at him, but I could hear the smile in his voice. “It is the custom here, as well.”

“To sleep naked?” I said, my voice rising in pitch.

The women in those other inns had only stripped down to their shifts, and the men down to their undertunics. Perhaps in private settings, people slept nude, but not in communal settings. Perhaps they had the decency not to sleep nude with others.

“You most certainly will not sleep naked,” I declared, then.

“You could, too, you know,” he replied with a sly smile. “It is much more comfortable.”

“I am sure it is,” I said dryly, “but I will sleep in my shift and you in your pants, at least.”

“Very well, Stjarna,” Loki acquiesced, laughing.

And he did as I asked that night, when it came time for us to retire.

He took his doublet and tunic off, but kept his pants on. He sat on the edge of the bed and as he pulled his boots off, I stared at his bare back, lit up a nearly ghastly white by the rays of moonlight managing to shine through the slats in the shutters. I quickly looked away when he turned his head towards me.

I turned away from him and unlaced my dress and pulled it off. I turned back around and noticed he was watching me, as I had been him, but I snapped at him to look away. He merely rolled his eyes.

“Stjarna, it’s not as if you’re naked.” He paused and grinned. “Though, I’d certainly not be opposed—”

“Will you please!” I said in exasperation. I stood there in my shift and folded my dress and placed it on the table, next to a poorly made candle with a weak flame. I glanced down at Loki’s clothes lumped into a pile on the floor. “Are you just going to leave them there?”

“Yes.”

I pressed my lips together and walked over to him and picked the clothes up off the floor.

“They’re already filthy,” he said unconcernedly, when I shot him a withering look.

“You’ve not got a chambermaid to pick up after you here,” I responded derisively, folding his clothing and setting them next to my dress. “Don’t leave your clothes lying on the floor.”

Loki smirked at me as I went to the bed and sat down next to him. He lay down and grinned up at me. I kept my eyes off of his bare skin, wondering why I did not tell him he had to wear both his pants and his tunic when in bed with me.

Tentatively, I lay down next to him, trying to keep from touching him, but it was difficult; the bed was not very large. He went to pull the thin blanket over us and I immediately sat up. “No!”

“What?”

“No… I… I will sleep on top of it.”

Loki looked incredulous. “What?”

I did not want to be under the cover with him. That was too intimate.

“I will sleep on top of it,” I repeated. I got out of the bed and let him cover himself. He watched me as I crawled back in.

“Stjarna, this is ridiculous. What do you think is going to happen?”

When I did not reply, he said, “Look! I am wearing my pants as you insisted. I am not going to take them off in the middle of the night!”

“I do not believe you,” I said, curling in on myself.

“Stjarna, you cannot be serious!”

I did not respond to him. I only closed my eyes.

But he did not stop. “Did I not promise you that nothing would happen that you did not want?”

“Yes, but your promises do not mean anything to me,” I whispered.

There was an uncomfortable silence and then I felt Loki turn over. I heard him mouth the words and felt him move his arm and the little flame across the room was extinguished.

__

I awoke first.

I opened my eyes and found myself staring at Loki’s bare back; the blanket had fallen down in the night and bunched around his waist.

I quickly rolled onto my back and glanced at the shutters. It was still mostly dark outside. I could just barely make out the light of early morning through the slats. I lay there for a while, listening to Loki’s gentle breaths, before he moved and turned over and onto me. I pushed him off of me and he groaned.

He opened his eyes slowly.

“Stjarna,” he whispered.

I did not reply.

“Stjarna,” he said again, rolling onto his side to face me.

“What?” I replied pettishly.

“I am hungry.”

I wanted to roll my eyes. Loki had been complaining to me nearly constantly of his hunger, but I suppose when he was so used to eating as he did in Asgard, this sudden change of both quality and portion size would affect his stomach.

“Would you like to go get food?” he asked.

“No.”

“I will bring you food, then.”

He rolled out of the bed, throwing the covers on me and over my head. I irritably yanked them off and watched him, lips pressed together in annoyance, as he went to the little table in the corner of the room and picked up his tunic and tugged it on. He ran his hand through his hair, to smooth it down somewhat, and then smirked at me as he passed by the bed and opened the door.

He returned shortly with food: bread and cheese and ale.

The Midgardians were not very imaginative when it came to breakfast. Though, I reasoned they probably did not have much choice in variety.

Loki handed me the food and I sat up in the bed to eat it.

“There is a table, you know,” he commented, seating himself at it after moving my folded dress and his doublet to the side.

“Yes.”

He rolled his eyes. “Are you going to be like this the entire time, Stjarna?”

“Like what?” I asked, taking a bite of cheese.

“Are you going to sleep on top of the blankets every time?” he clarified impatiently.

Suddenly, I was angry. He was acting as if it was my fault that I was so unhappy here. 

“Loki,” I said, with some sense of incredulity, “you dragged me here—against my will—as recompense for your having... having...” I could not even say it now. I trailed off and swallowed and looked away from him. I shook my head and said quietly, “I did not want to come.”

I knew he was looking at me, but I did not meet his gaze. I looked down at the cup in my hand, and the bread and cheese in the other. The silence seemed to drag on, but Loki never responded to me and so we ate in silence. But I did not mind the silence. I did not wish to speak to him anymore of it. It was past. All of it was past. I did not want to be any more involved with him than I was now; he was a prince and he did what he wanted and I had nothing to do with it, or would at least try to not have anything to do with it anymore.

The sooner he realized this, that I had moved on, or was at least attempting it, the better it would be for the both of us.

__

And so we made our way up through France and the time seemed to pass by fairly quickly.

We slept with the Midgardians in communal beds more times than I would care to admit and, in my own opinion, adapted quite well to their world. At least considering what we were and where we had come from.

Loki reveled in the simplicity of the human lives and the plainness of their world. The humans were not very advanced then and Loki, always observant, always eager for learning, despite his obstinacy and absurdity, saw all of this and kept it with him for centuries afterwards, this image of the fragility of the human race. It was what spurred his disdain for the mortals, much later, when he went to rule them as king.

But for now, our lives were simple on Midgard, like those of the humans who lived here. Loki loved it; he saw it as an adventure, a break from the dullness and repetition of Asgard and as much as I hated to admit, as the days, and then the weeks, passed, I began also to enjoy it here, despite having been forced to come and despite my having been determined to hate it.

Loki seemed a different person and I found I was not as repulsed by him as I had been before. He did not, as he had promised, try to touch or kiss me, though he had had plenty of opportunities. Though I did not tell him, I greatly appreciated his regard for me, or at least in his honoring his word, something I knew he was not always apt to do. And so we explored the world of the humans in an almost a friendly camaraderie.

Always, though, it was in the back of my mind, and I am sure his as well, the reason he had brought me here—the way he had been before. But I did not think there truly a way to mend the hurt he had caused me. Best to just try and move past it. I think that I thought once I could move past it, or at least try to forget it, all would be well. Not thinking of it and trying to move on made my time here with him that much easier. It made it easier to laugh with him and smile and act as if nothing had ever happened.

And so I think we were happy, if it could be called that. Everything seemed an adventure, everything a new and thrilling experience.

In fact, there was only once during our entire trip to Midgard that we encountered any sort of serious trouble that threatened to shatter the illusion and, even then, Loki took care of it in a most impressive fashion.

At that time, we had been on Midgard for a little over two months, and in the land called England for a couple of weeks, having gotten passage on a ship across the water that separated it and France.

We had been walking on a main road, which ran by a forest, when Loki suddenly grabbed my arm and yanked me towards him.

I went to protest his iron grip but stopped when I saw his expression. I looked ahead and saw two men standing in the road—just standing, watching us.

I heard Loki mutter under his breath, “Do not leave my side.”

If it had not been for Loki’s sudden seriousness, I would have rolled my eyes. As if I would do something so foolish.

But I knew what these men were. Hirdakyn had warned us of them—outlaws. Midgardians no longer offered protection by the law for the crimes they had committed. They lived in the forests, moved among the people in the cities, attempting to remain faceless and live unnoticed.

One of the men grinned at me, exposing the blackened stumps that were his teeth.

I grimaced.

“Greetings,” the first man said.

Loki inclined his head in a silent acknowledgement, but I could tell he was wary.

“Where are you headed?” the man inquired, then.

“I do not see how that is any of your concern,” Loki replied coolly.

The man raised his eyebrows and glanced at his friend with the black teeth, as if he was amused. He turned his gaze back on Loki. “Very well, then. I’ve got a proposition for you, friend.”

“Does that proposition include you letting us pass without incident?” Loki inquired.

“If you see fit to do as I say, then yes.”

Now Loki smiled, as if he was enjoying this. “Unfortunately, I have never been one to do as others say.”

“Loki,” I whispered nervously. What was he doing?

I looked back at the men and noticed the second man staring at me. He had not stopped looking at me since the beginning and his gaze was less than friendly and making me exceedingly uncomfortable.

The first man laughed at Loki’s assertion and my heart seemed to skip a beat when he promptly withdrew the dagger from his belt. With this movement, the second man also pulled out a dagger. 

“Strong words for only one man against us,” the first man observed. “I would have been nice about it, but I see you’re in no mood. So I’ll tell you simply. Give me your coin purse.”

Much to my surprise, then, Loki laughed. “Or what?”

The man tilted his head, somewhat taken aback by Loki’s surely strange reaction. He answered plainly, “Or I’ll kill you.”

I anxiously moved a little closer to Loki, who snorted in derision at the man. The man did not like that and his mouth twisted with displeasure. His cold eyes landed on me, then, and his subsequent smile was lecherous. “Now that I think of it, give us your woman, too.”

I was gripped by a cold fear at his words, but before I could react, I heard a soft cracking sound behind us.

I turned around, keeping close to Loki, and saw two other men coming out of the forest. One of them smiled lasciviously at me as he ran his fingertip across the blade of his dagger, but they only stood there, making no move to come closer to us.

I grabbed Loki’s hand and murmured worriedly, “Loki.”

He turned his head to the side and saw out of his peripherals the two men standing behind us. He pressed his lips together in annoyance and turned back to face the apparent leader of the group.

Loki said flatly, “I am not giving her to you, nor my money. If you do not stand aside, I will kill all of you.”

The two men in front of us, as well as behind, laughed, and I looked up at Loki in trepidation. Though I had no doubt Loki could quickly and effortlessly dispatch all four of them, for I had witnessed prodigious evidence of his physical competency, the entire situation still frightened me.

Loki continued gazing levelly at the two men in front of us, but they obviously did not take his threat seriously. But why would they? Loki was just another traveler and outwardly not a threat to four of them.

The first man collected himself and cocked his head, letting his eyes come to once again settle on me. He regarded me with a prurient gaze and motioned at me with his knife. “Your woman looks like she rides well. If you behave, maybe we’ll let you watch us fuck her.”

Immediately, Loki’s countenance changed and I felt him stiffen next to me. It was apparent he had not liked that. 

“Loki?” I whispered, feeling ill.

He looked down at me, his visage stony. “Stjarna, get on the ground.”

“What?” I asked in alarm.

“Do as I say,” he growled, eyes boring into mine.

Immediately, I released his hand and dropped to the ground.

As soon as my knees hit the hard dirt, and too quickly for the outlaws to see, Loki reached behind his back, up under his doublet, turned to the side for momentum, and then threw his arm out. The two men standing in front of us were thrown violently backwards and landed on the ground hard. They lay there, unmoving, and I saw with horror the dark red patches blooming quickly on their chests, soaking through their clothes.

Just a moment later, Loki had turned around and done the same with the two men behind us. I had not even seen them fly back, Loki was so quick. When I turned around, they both were supine on the ground, dead. Loki’s little silver throwing knives were buried fully in their chests.

I sat there on my calves, the color drained from my face and hands up and clapped over my open mouth.

“Stjarna.”

I slowly tore my eyes away from the bodies and looked up.

Loki had his hand extended for me to take. Hesitantly I slipped my fingers into his and he pulled me up. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, noticing my distress.

“You—you just killed four men,” I breathed.

“They were scum,” he dismissed.

With that, he proceeded to each body to extract his throwing knives. They were deeply embedded and he had to put his foot on their chests to pull the knives out. One of them was buried halfway in the man’s breastbone. Loki cursed, though he eventually got it out. He wiped the blood off on the man’s sleeve and slipped the knife back under his doublet.

Once he was finished, he brushed past me. “Are we going on?”

I followed him silently, maneuvering around the dead men, surprised at Loki’s coldness.

I glanced back at the bodies on the road as we walked. “Are we just going to leave them?”

“Yes.”

“Would you have let them live if they had left us alone and gone back into the forest?”

“Yes, but then he said that about you. After that, they were dead.”

I looked down at the ground.

“No doubt they would have dragged you back to whatever hole in the forest they reside in,” Loki continued, “and raped you one after the other.”

My insides twisted at the callousness of his words—the truth in them.

I cringed just thinking on it and suddenly felt incredibly grateful towards Loki.

“Thank you,” I said.

Loki looked sideways at me. “For what?”

“For… killing them.” How terrible the words sounded coming out of my mouth, but the consequences of their living would have been much worse. If not for Loki or me, then for other unsuspecting travelers. I reasoned that their deaths were for the best.

“Could you not have staved them off with your seidr, Stjarna?”

“Not for long. I can make a seidr blade, but I cannot fight. I do not know how.”

“A seidr blade?” Loki asked curiously.

We slowed and stopped in the middle of the road. I held out my fist and felt the warmth of my seidr accumulate in my hand. There was a faint shimmering and suddenly there, sticking out of my fist, was a blade, perhaps seven inches in length, glowing a dull green.

Loki gazed at it in amazement and looked up at me, almost in awe. “I did not know you could do that.”

I gave him a half-smile. “There is a lot you do not know about me, Loki.”

“Clearly.”

“This is only manifested seidr,” I explained. “But it is very sharp. Sharper than even your throwing knives, and perhaps all of the blades in Asgard. It is made entirely of energy.”

“How do you make it?” Loki queried, reaching out to touch it. He ran his fingertip along the edge of the blade, breaking the skin. He looked at the blood beading on his fingertip and then up at me with a smile. “You must show me.”

“I will. Later.” The blade gleamed and faded in my hand when I opened my fingers and then was gone. I let my arm drop to my side.

We began walking again and Loki asked, “Can you make swords of seidr? What about a bow and arrows? Spears?”

I thought for a moment. “I am sure you could, if you were skillful enough to manipulate the energy and hold it, but even I could not make a sword, if I wished. That would require a tremendous amount of energy. Do you remember what I once said about draining yourself?”

“Yes,” he replied.

We discussed seidr for perhaps another half hour before, in the near distance, we saw a large grey structure.

“Ah,” Loki said. “A castle.”

Hirdakyn had told us that castles were fortified buildings belonging to those of the Midgardian nobility and would also take travelers in for the night. We had not yet stayed in a castle and both of us decided quickly that we would try it. After all, we did not know if we would reach a town before nightfall. It was preferable to staying in a monastery, anyhow.

We reached the castle by mid-afternoon.

It was a great building made of stone, surrounded by a moat and a wall of earth dotted with small stone towers for protection against attackers. The guard at the gate admitted us easily enough. We were not the only ones coming and going; many had animals or small carts piled with wares with them.

The atmosphere was very busy and Loki was glancing all around, drinking everything in. He insisted that we walk around, for he wanted to observe. Nobody paid us any mind as we wandered through the open area. I kept close to Loki, as I tended to do now, but he did not mind. I am sure he liked it.

After a while, when the sky began to darken, everybody seemed to pack up what they had been doing and headed in the same general direction. Loki and I followed them to what we assumed was the great hall, for it was time to eat.

Servants were setting up the tables and benches and handing out bowls and cups to everybody once they had sat down, counting out loud to keep track. Then came the slices of dark bread, set in the bottoms of the bowls, and our cups were filled with ale.

Before the food was served, the owner of the castle, or the man I assumed to be the owner, one of the Midgardian nobility, came down with his family and seated himself. It was only when he and his family had situated themselves at the head of the table that the servants brought cauldrons filled with some sort of steaming fish soup.

The owner of the castle and his family were served first. After that, the cauldrons were set out and everybody else was allowed to help themselves. It was oily and rather salty, but good. It was better than what we had been given our first night on Midgard, no doubt.

Loki and I sat together, among these people, hearing the talking and the laughter, feeling out of place and yet a part of it all. While we ate, Loki conversed with some of the people near us. They asked us where we were from, expressing interest in Loki’s accent, and Loki answered, as if it were of no consequence, “Asgard.”

“Loki!” I said in alarm.

He only laughed at me. “Stjarna, they know not where Asgard is. Least of all what it is.”

I knew he was right, but I was still distressed that he should let slip so easily that we were from another realm. But the others around us merely shrugged; they did not know where Asgard was and they did not care. To them, Asgard was just another faraway land they had never heard of.

After everybody had finished eating, the bowls and cups were collected and the tables and benches cleared away and propped against one of the far walls. Until the lights were doused, everybody gathered into groups to play games or talk and tell stories.

Loki took my hand and led me around, wanting to mingle. The conversations varied from group to group. Some spoke of the weather and of crops, while others discussed a recent hanging in a nearby town or the bodies of four outlaws that had been discovered on the road not far from here.

Finally, Loki chose a group consisting of three men and two women and we sat with them. They seemed surprised that two strangers should sit with them, but they were nice enough about it and welcomed us. They were telling stories and jokes, most of which were incredibly vulgar, but I found it almost refreshing since it was not as if the handmaidens discussed such things. Loki also enjoyed it and often interjected with similar stories or jokes of his own, which interested and amused the Midgardians.

After a while, the lights were extinguished by the servants, signaling that everybody should sleep. Loki found us a spot near the corner against the wall and as he spread out his cloak for us to lie on, I studied the people around us. There were probably sixty or seventy people staying here tonight in the great hall and all of them preparing for sleep as we were.

Loki sat against the wall and I sat next to him, pulling my cloak over us. We talked until my eyes grew heavy and my head began to droop. Without much thought, I propped my head against his shoulder, but he did not try to move me to lie down. I told myself that his shoulder was more comfortable than one of the leather bags around my belt, though even in the back of my mind I knew I was lying to myself, for his shoulder was really rather bony.

And just as I drifted off into sleep, probably as comfortable as I could get sitting here against a stone wall and on a stone floor, Loki took my hand, twined my fingers with his, and held it in his lap.


	19. Part I - Chapter 19

Stjarnavetr

I opened my eyes slowly. Though the great hall was still fairly dark, I could barely make out the shapes of people moving around, trying their hardest not to step on those still asleep. Deciding that I could still sleep for a little longer, as I did not yet see any light peeking through the large windows set high in the walls, I closed my eyes, feeling very warm and very comfortable.

It was then when I realized that I was too warm and too comfortable for having been sitting, and lying, on a stone floor for nearly the entire night. My eyes flew open when I realized my position.

Loki lay behind me on his side, his front pressed flush against my back. My dress was, beneath the cloak that covered us, pushed up to above my knees and our legs were tangled together. We must have moved to lie down sometime during the night and Loki had taken the opportunity to hold me as I would not allow him to do when I was fully conscious and aware of what was going on around me.

I could feel his breath, warm on the back of my neck, and his arm wrapped tightly around my middle and large hand resting just below my breasts.

Feeling a surge of panic, however unwarranted it was, since he was asleep, I hastily disentangled myself from him and rolled over. I climbed to my feet and adjusted my dress, letting it fall back to my ankles.

I was thankful when he did not wake; he merely rolled onto his front, head resting on his satchel. He must have put it there to use as a pillow when he had laid us down during the night.

I brushed the loose strands of my hair back and wiped my eyes and face, trying to refresh myself. I looked back down at Loki, berating myself for having lain against him like that last night. I should not have let him take my hand, either.

I closed my eyes and reminded myself of why I was here in the first place: I had caught him taking a serving girl up against a column, not hours after he had touched me so intimately, and then later he had come to me furious, thinking I had lain with his brother. And so to make up for his sexual indiscretion and tactlessly hasty assumptions, he had dragged me here to this fairly uncivilized realm.

I opened my eyes and looked back down at him, reflecting on all the hurt he had caused me.

Yes. This was a charade, all of this laughing together and carrying on as if nothing had happened. We could act like this, even sleep in the same bed together, but it still was all just a travesty. I did not think it could ever be anything more than that.

While I had tried to convince myself that Loki had not betrayed me with that girl, for we had never actually lain together, sometimes it was still difficult for me to believe that. The way he had kissed me and held me and touched me that morning, as if he cared for me, for more than just the thought of having me in his bed. And though I should not have, I admitted to myself that I had liked it last night, leaning against him. I had liked him holding my hand.

But then I remembered how he had had his hand around my throat after I had slapped him.

I gave a little shake of my head.

I just had to keep reminding myself of why we were here. I had to keep convincing myself that I hated him, though he was, admittedly, making it very difficult.

Sometimes it seemed as if he were actually trying to make everything up to me, trying to make everything right.

But he was a liar. I was determined not to fall into all of that again.

Confident that I had somehow come to some sort of momentous decision, I turned around and made my way through the great hall, towards the doors, trying my best not to step on anybody. I was unsuccessful and was cursed at a few times.

Once outside, I took a deep breath. The air felt thin and cool. It was refreshing. I noticed that I was not the only one outside; servants were moving around, performing their morning duties, and travelers were preparing to depart.

I was hungry and decided to be independent for once, here on Midgard. I wandered and searched around until I found the kitchens and was pleased to find them already preparing breakfast. I caught the attention of one of the serving boys and asked if I might have some bread. He gave me half a loaf, which I knew would not satisfy Loki, but I did not complain.

Feeling satisfied with myself at displaying this little act of self-sufficiency, however meager or pathetic it might have been, and seeing that the sky was lightening, I went to make my way back to the great hall. I would present Loki with the bread and put some of it in his bag so we might have it later.

But Loki found me first. I saw him over all of the other people, for he was practically a head taller than nearly everybody.

I smiled when I saw him, having decided that I could at least allow myself to enjoy his company, since there was no need to spend the rest of the journey miserable—and since I did not really have a choice. But when I saw his expression, my smile fell.

He spotted me and came to a stop in front of me and demanded, “Where were you?”

“What?” I asked, confused as to why he looked so incensed.

“I woke up and you were gone!”

I raised my eyebrows. I did not understand why that was such a problem for him.

I tried to explain to him that I had gone to get breakfast for us. I told him that I had aggravated one of the servants so badly with my horrendous English that he had just given me the bread. I thought Loki would laugh, but he did not, and so I held out the loaf, hoping he would take it.

He ignored my outstretched hand and demanded furiously, “What if something had happened?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, growing angry myself at his tone and his implication. Did he want me to stay within his sight at all times? “What could possibly happen?”

“Anything, Stjarna!” he snapped. “Do not leave my side again.”

I pressed my lips together in irritation and held his gaze, not saying anything.

“Alright?” he pressed, still glaring.

“Yes,” acquiesced, finally looking away. I was chagrined that he should reprimand me like a child. I had not even left him for an hour. And he had been asleep!

It was only when I had submitted to him that he took the bread from me. He ripped off a piece and said flatly, “Let’s go.”

I followed him back into the great hall, where he had left our belongings against the wall in his haste to track me down. I watched him coolly as he collected our things and did not meet his gaze when he handed me my belt and cloak.

Loki said that there was a religious service soon, but I did not wish to attend it. I wanted to leave.

And so we left right then, in the early morning, when the air was crisp and the dew frosted on the hard ground. The landscape looked blue and frozen and, while we walked, Loki remarked that it was very pretty. Personally, I thought the landscape looked dead and ugly.

When I did not reply, Loki said, “What, are you angry with me now? Yet again?”

I could not tell if he were annoyed or exasperated or even joking with me.

“Stjarna, I was simply worried when I awoke and you were gone,” he explained, his voice tight. “You’d left all of your things and I did not know where you were. After those outlaws, I thought the worst.”

I wanted to roll my eyes, but I did not. Though a small part of me was somewhat pleased that he had been worried for my safety, I still resented his chastising me.

Loki did not speak of it again, but instead moved on to other topics. Eventually he drew me out of my silence and we conversed as we walked.

He told me that he wanted to go to England’s capital, a city called London. Hirdakyn had told him of it and he was curious to see it. He said it would take us perhaps a week to reach it, though there was no rush.

But I was not interested in London at the moment. I asked Loki if there was any lodging ahead.

“Yes,” he answered. “One of the men I spoke to last night said he had stayed at an inn along this road the night before. We should reach it before nightfall, I think.”

“Good,” I whispered, pulling my cloak tighter around me. I could see my breath.

We reached the inn Loki had spoken of just as the sun was setting.

I had been terrified that we might have to sleep on the ground, though Loki did not seem too bothered by the idea. We had had to sleep on the ground once before, in a field when it had been slightly warmer, and he had merely lain next to me while I tried to sleep, commenting on the sky and how breathtaking it was.

“Is it not wonderful,” he had said to me, fingers laced under his head, “that such pleasure could be had by just looking?”

I had been fairly surprised at that side of him, never having seen it before, but despite my enjoying seeing him like that, I would still rather have had a room and a bed to block out the wind and cold.

When we went inside the inn, I was thankful to learn that it had two private rooms, both of which were, for the night, unoccupied.

I did not even have to ask; Loki obtained one of them for us and we retired to it after a meager supper.

Though I was tired, Loki insisted that we practice seidr.

All the while that we had been on Midgard, Loki and I had been practicing seidr. Hirdakyn had warned us to be very careful and to only do it when we were alone. We heeded his advice, which meant we could only practice magic when out on the road by ourselves or in a private room in an inn, which was not all the time. Luckily, inns had become much more common along the roads and in towns and cities once we reached England.

Loki and I seated ourselves across from each other on the bed, sitting cross-legged.

Before we began, I cast a spell over us to block Heimdall’s sight, if he happened to check in on us at this moment. It would only be for an hour or so, though. Queen Frigga had told me long ago that the Allfather did not wish for Loki to learn any more seidr, so we had to do it in secret. Sometimes, when I taught Loki, I wondered to myself what the Allfather would do to me if he found out his wife had employed me to teach his son that which he had forbidden?

But I pushed that thought from my mind and instead focused on Loki sitting in front of me.

He wanted to practice forming a seidr blade. He had been very eager to make one since he had killed those outlaws, though he had not had a chance to practice since then. There had been too many people around.

I demonstrated for him how to do it and soon he was able to form one, though not able to hold it for long. I told him that that was normal and with more practice soon he would be able to hold one for as long as he wanted.

After perhaps an hour of this, Loki said he wanted to move on to something else.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Teach me something else, Stjarna. I’m not tired.”

I sighed. I was tired, but it was not as if we were on a schedule.

And so I thought for a moment before deciding on a fairly basic, but rather useful, spell that I had not yet taught him. 

“Hold up your hands.”

Loki raised his arms, large hands splayed open in the air. I lifted my own hands and laced our fingers together. Though I did not really want to touch him again, I did not know how else to show him this spell for the first time. I wanted him to feel the seidr as it moved.

I told him the runes and he memorized them quickly.

“Alright,” I said, staring at his face.

I watched him move his lips as he mouthed the runes. He still spoke the words when he performed any spell, however softly he had to murmur them, but I did not doubt he would soon come to the point where he did not have to speak at all.

As soon as he said the words, I felt the stream of his seidr flow into my palms. It ran up my arms and spread comfortingly throughout my body. I involuntarily relaxed and closed my eyes. It was a very pleasing sensation, a feeling of many fingers kneading and caressing you from the inside out. I let out a breath, enjoying the feeling. It seemed to clear my head and left me feeling contented, but then the warmth of Loki’s seidr settled in my lower abdomen and I quickly opened my eyes, no longer feeling so at ease.

“Oh,” I whispered.

“What is it?” Loki asked, eyes widening slightly. “Did I do something wrong?”

I smiled at him, trying to mask my discomfort. “No, no. I just did not expect you to grasp that so quickly.”

He smirked at me. “You looked quite pleased. What exactly did I do?”

“That was a healing spell,” I responded, unlocking our fingers and letting my hands rest in my lap.

“A healing spell?”

“Yes. The seidr seeks out the spots on or in your body where you are harmed, or have been harmed. It tries to… fix it. Knit you back together, in a sense.”

His seidr was still lingering in the pit of my stomach, though now I could feel it slowly fading, as it had failed to restore me. I ignored the feeling of it, knowing it would soon disappear.

“It looked like it felt good,” Loki observed.

I nodded. “I will do it to you.”

I held my hands up again and he eagerly twined his fingers with mine.

I sent my seidr into him, perhaps a little too much; he closed his eyes, exhaled, and then tilted his head back, lips slightly parted.

Without realizing it, I smiled at his expression. He looked so content—so peaceful. Hardly ever, it seemed, was he not smirking or frowning or yelling. I loved seeing him like this, despite the fact that just this morning I had been determined to remain angry at him for what he had done to me.

Loki slowly opened his eyes, blinked, and looked at me. “Oh, I did like that.”

I laughed and lowered my arms and said, “Have you never felt that before?”

Loki looked pensive. “Yes. Eir has healed me before with her seidr. Did she use this spell?”

“Probably,” I concurred. 

I knew that Eir had lived for a time in Vanaheim, though it had been before I was born. It was there that she learned seidr and how to best use its healing properties. She had taken her knowledge back to Asgard and become its chief healer.

Loki grinned at me. “But I don’t remember it feeling like that. Yours felt good, Stjarna.”

I laughed again. I had been right—I had sent too much into him. Not that that was a bad thing, though. Sometimes the spell had to be very strong, but Loki was not currently injured, so I should not have sent so much into him.

With a smile playing at the edge of his lips, Loki inquired, “Why did you not use this on me after Njord’s wedding?”

I attempted to hold back a laugh, though I was unsuccessful. “In truth, Loki, I liked seeing you writhing around in your bed. Perhaps if you knew there was nothing for the pain of having tied your balls to a goat, you would not do it again.”

“As if I would ever do something so foolish again,” Loki retorted, rolling his eyes. And then, his voice serious, he asked, “Stjarna, can this spell be used for pleasure?”

I raised my eyebrows, surprised. “Pleasure?”

“Sex.”

“Oh.”

Of course he would ask that.

I stared at him, thinking. The healing spell did create a most delightful feeling, though personally I had never tried it as a means of sexual pleasure. Valdrlund had never suggested it, anyway.

“I know not,” I finally said, uncertain. “I’ve never tried it for that purpose…”

Loki smirked at me.

And then, trying to move his mind back to seidr and not sex, I continued, “This is an important spell, Loki. You should master it. Make it stronger.”

He chuckled. “Why? Who will I be saving in the near future?”

“You could save yourself,” I said gravely.

“Myself?”

“Yes. You can perform this spell on yourself. If you are injured, only slightly, or even grievously, you can, perhaps, save yourself. But of course, it all depends on the wound and the power you put behind it. If you’re too weak, or you do not put enough seidr behind the spell, you will not recover. Or you will die.”

“Such dark thoughts,” he mused.

“Such practical thoughts,” I corrected him.

He looked at me. “Have you ever had to use this spell, Stjarna?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, I felt an uncomfortable flush spread over my body. 

“I have,” I whispered softly, before I could think on it.

“Did it work?” he asked curiously.

I swallowed thickly and looked down, closing my eyes. “No. It did not.”

I could feel the tears coming, the burning in my eyes.

After a moment, I felt Loki’s fingers under my chin. He lifted my face up and I opened my eyes. He was looking at the tears now gathered on my lashes. I blinked and looked away. I did not want him to see me like this. It almost felt as if he would be able to see the horrors of my past playing out behind my eyes if he looked at me. I could not bear that.

I had tried so hard to forget, but now it was coming back, bit by bit. Shadows of that place, echoes of my screaming, screaming for him and he did not come, and the pain as I lay on that stone floor. Splashes of agony, splashes of blood, daubed so horribly across my memories.

I felt as if I were going to vomit. I took a deep breath, willing it all to stay down. Trying to will it away, begging the memories to leave me alone. I did not want them. Not here, not now.

“Stjarna,” Loki murmured.

And then he lifted his arms and put his hands on either side of my face. Before I could ask him what he was doing, I heard him whisper the runes and felt the soothing heat of his seidr slowly seeping into me, clearing my head of any dark thoughts and dreadful remembrances.

I closed my eyes and my lips parted at the feeling of tranquility that spread through my body. I wondered why I had been so upset and thought of how incredibly grateful I was that Loki was here. I did not think on why we were here, could not remember why I had been so upset with him—only that I was so happy he was here with me.

I leaned into his touch. “Loki,” I said quietly, bringing my hands up and covering his. “I am tired. Can we sleep?”

Loki gave a small nod and released me.

I crawled off of the bed, relieved at the prospect of sleep. I knew it was due to Loki’s seidr; it made me suddenly feel very tired, more so than I had been.

I slowly took my dress off and folded it. Loki took his doublet and tunic off and handed them to me. I placed them on the rude little table, the only other piece of furniture in the room apart from one stool, and went back to the bed. I sat down heavily on the edge and began to slowly unbraid my hair.

After a few minutes, I felt Loki shift behind me.

I thought that he had lain down or turned over, but then I felt him behind me, probably kneeling, and felt the warmth of his breath on the back of my neck.

I stiffened when I felt him press his lips against the back of my shoulder. He dragged his head up, moving his lips onto my bare skin and to the spot between my neck and shoulder. I gave a slight shiver, feeling a series of pleasing tingles race across my skin, a thrill that seemed to settle between my legs.

I stared ahead at the wall, almost unsure of what to do, fingers tightened in my hair, still half-unbraided, as he continued kissing me. His lips moved gently against my flushed skin, over the side of my throat and under my jaw, his tongue leaving wet little trails.

Tentatively, I turned my head slightly to the side and he moved up and kissed the side of my mouth.

I slowly closed my eyes and sat there as he moved his head back down and pressed his face into the side of my neck. He slipped his arms under mine and wrapped them around my middle, under my breasts. For some curious reason, I did not pull away or tell him to stop. I merely lost myself in the feeling of his front pressed against my back, felt his lips now at the spot beneath my ear, heard him whisper my name so softly I could not be sure if he had actually said anything.

I was reminded of that morning when he had stood behind me and kissed me and touched me. I remembered my wanting to kiss him, my panting in ecstasy as he moved my hand between us to touch him.

But this felt different. It felt softer. More intimate.

He was kissing me slowly and delicately—almost leisurely. And I sat there, letting him, liking it, forgetting that just this morning I had been resolved for everything to go back to how it was.

And then I felt his fingers at my chest, carefully pulling at the little laces that held the top of my shift closed. A jolt of excitement shot through me when his fingertips brushed my bare skin through the opening.

Without thinking, I reached up and grabbed his hand, stilling it, but I did not push him away. I merely held his hand flat to my chest, curiously feeling no surge of panic. As if I had not stopped him, Loki continued moving his lips against me, skimming his nose under my jaw and up and down the side of my throat.

“Why do you touch me, Loki?” I asked quietly, slowly opening my eyes.

“Because you like it,” was his soft and muffled reply. He left a trail of small kisses across the top of my shoulder, then, and though I loved the feeling of him holding me like this, lavishing such affection on me, I felt angry—angry because I did like it and angry because he knew I liked it.

Realizing this could not go on, I silently let go of his hand and leaned forward, indicating that I wished for him to let me go.

Though I am sure it frustrated him, Loki did as he had promised me at the beginning of this journey. He would not go any further than what I allowed. I felt gratitude, as well as a small pang of loss, when he released me without a sound, pulling back and away from me.

I looked down and let my hands fall into my lap, where I could feel that familiar and hollow ache between my thighs. I tried not to think on how I would not have minded if he had stayed there with his arms around me, his face pressed into my neck, all in spite of the fact that I was supposed to hate him.

But had I not decided that everything would go back to how it had been, before he had ever kissed me? I was irritated that I could not even keep promises I made to myself. I almost felt angry for being so infuriatingly indecisive.

But it was past now.

I reached up and eventually finished unbraiding my hair, trying to focus on it and not Loki’s nearness as he settled into the bed, probably very disappointed with me. The thought of that upset me.

When I was finished with my hair, I sat there for a moment longer before lying down. I pulled my cloak over me, as I still slept on top of the blanket to have some sort of barrier between him and me. I feared what might happen if we both slept beneath it. Especially now.

As we both lay there on our backs, staring up at the ceiling in this uncomfortable silence, I thought on how difficult it was becoming to dislike him, even though I knew how he was. I had begun to wonder to myself if, perhaps, Loki really was trying to make it all up to me. Though, he could have picked a better way to do it.

But I was not ready to trust him like that, even though I could feel my body burning at just his proximity. This was the first time in a long time that I had felt this way about him, thought about him like this. I was surprised at how strongly my body had responded at just his kissing my shoulder and neck, how his closeness had given me some sense of comfort. Even now, lying here, I could feel the moisture between my legs, feel the ache of longing. I could not deny that my body wanted him, though I could very well deny my mind and my heart. My worries and my doubts about him, not to mention the ruination of my body, would keep me from my impulsivity.

I knew that this feeling would pass, as it had before many times.

And so I turned onto my side, my back to him, and curled in on myself, wishing that I did not suddenly feel so miserable about it all.


	20. Part I - Chapter 20

Stjarnavetr

One week later, we were in the city of London, England’s capital.

We had found an inn in the city, one of the nicest ones we had stumbled across in our journey here on Midgard. It had an upstairs, where the private rooms were located. Loki had gotten one of them for us for an entire week, as he said he wished to spend a while here in the city.

When we were not at the inn, we were wandering around. London was a great, dirty city, but there were many interesting things to see. We walked through the twisting streets and winding lanes, as well as along the filthy river they called the Thames.

And all the while, we did not speak of that night a week ago when he had held me and kissed me. It was almost as if it had never happened, though I knew the both of us thought of it often enough. Sometimes Loki would look at me, his expression tinged with what I could almost have mistaken for sorrow.

But for now, for today, all was well.

Loki and I had been out nearly the entire day, exploring.

I was fairly hungry and told Loki I wanted something to eat. He inquired of some passerby where we might find a bakery and we were directed to the nearest one. It was a dilapidated little building, as we were in the poorer part of the city; I did not expect the bread to be stellar, but I was famished and did not care.

Loki offered to get the bread for me, but I did not want him to coerce another Midgardian into giving us something for free, so I told him that I wanted to buy the bread myself. And so Loki amusedly, at my insistence, left me to go stand outside. I handled the transaction with relative ease, much to my delight, and went back outside a few minutes later to find Loki.

I did not see him immediately, but I knew he would not go far without me. I walked up the street, searching for him, not allowing myself to panic yet. After a few minutes, I saw him. He was sitting on a rude wooden bench, legs spread wide and arms resting on top of his legs. People glared at him as they passed by, trying to step over his feet, but he did not see them or seem to care. He was focused on something else.

I followed his gaze across the street, trying to see through the flow of people, and saw that he was studying a woman.

She wore a cloak, for the air was cold, but every so often would open it to passing men to display the swells of her white breasts, terribly visible above the deeply curving neckline of her dress—a prostitute displaying her wares, attempting to entice men into the brothel behind her. Every so often, she would extend her hand to a passerby, who would either bat her away or briefly admire her plumpness before moving on. Some men disappeared through the door behind her, though, and she would smile at them and brush their arms with her hand.

I looked back at Loki, whose eyes had not yet wandered.

My heart fell.

I looked down at the bread in my hand, trying to reason with myself. Loki’s needs were really none of my concern and since I could not give to him what he wanted, he must spend his desire somewhere.

So why did I feel so upset at the notion of him lying with her, or any other woman?

Relegated, but no less comforted, I approached him and sat next to him, trying to avoid touching his leg, but the bench was rather narrow and it was difficult with his legs thrown open so widely.

“I will wait out here,” I said dolefully, ripping off a little piece of the bread in my hands.

Loki looked over at me, as if he had just noticed my presence. “What?”

I glanced up at the woman across the street and then back at Loki. “I will wait out here until you are done.”

“Done with what?”

“With her,” I said, motioning towards the whore, who had just succeeded in luring another man into the brothel behind her.

Loki’s brows creased and I was surprised to see that he looked aggravated. “You think that I was going to fuck her?”

“Not necessarily her—”

“You think I was going to go inside?” he asked, sounding affronted.

I swallowed and said tentatively, “Were you not?”

“No,” he snorted. “I only came to find a bench to sit on and it just happened to be… here. Where else was I supposed to sit? On the ground?”

His tone was scathing and I looked away, embarrassed. I hoped now that he would drop the matter, but he pushed it instead.

He reiterated firmly, “So you thought I was going to fuck her?”

“Yes,” I murmured. “I thought you were going to go in.”

“Why?”

I did not understand why he was so displeased, though it surprised me that he should ask me why. Why else would I think he might want to visit a brothel?

“I only assumed because you haven’t had a woman in…” my voice trailed off when I looked up and saw that he looked positively irate “…in months and… and… I am only going off of what I have seen in Asgard, Loki—”

“Enough,” he interrupted sharply, turning his head away.

I looked down, staring at the bread in my hand gloomily.

After a few moments of silence, Loki said, “Do you want to go back to the inn?”

I merely nodded and he stood up and I followed him through the streets, no longer hungry. It took us about an hour to reach the inn due to the streets being clogged with people and us getting lost once. By the time we reached the inn, the sun was beginning to set.

Loki said we would eat supper before going up to our room. Though I had lost my appetite, I only once again nodded, not wishing to argue anymore. He told me to find a table and he would get our food for us. I took one of the tables near the wall in the corner, away from the few other guests who were drinking or eating in the main room as well, and picked at the bread I had carried in, still uneaten.

Loki soon returned with the food and laid it out for us and sat down. Once I had taken mine, knowing I would not eat it, and he his, he said unceremoniously, “Are you still upset with me?”

I glanced up at him and responded, almost tiredly, “For what would I be upset, Loki?”

His eyes bored into mine. “Obviously, Stjarna, I am talking about when you caught me with that servant in Asgard.”

I flinched—it was jarring to hear it spoken out loud. I suppose I had always thought that it was something to only be thought of, to only be despaired over privately.

Loki ignored my reaction and roughly continued. “I brought you here as a way of begging your forgiveness and yet you are still cross, Stjarna. I do not understand.”

I stared at him in disbelief, lips parted in surprise. Was he really so unperceptive? It was most unlike him. But then again, he had expected me to forgive him for everything by dragging me here to Midgard. He probably thought that I would have, by now, fallen into bed with him, grateful and simpering over his kindness and thoughtfulness.

And in that moment, I realized what this was all about. Yet again.

I closed my eyes and put my head in my hands. “I am such a fool,” I whispered.

“What?” he demanded.

I looked up at him, my eyes hard. “I am a fool,” I repeated harshly, stressing each word.

He looked momentarily surprised. “You are…?”

“Yes!” I nearly cried out. “I am a fool, Loki! I should have known all along what this was! You need not my forgiveness. You could care less about that. This is all just another ruse to get me into your bed. To fuck me. Get me to spread my legs for you—oh, that’s all it’s ever been about!”

I looked down at my hands and, for the thousandth time, berated myself, wondering how I could have ever thought of him intimately. There was not a single redeeming quality about him anyway, so why did I always come back to this? Why did I always accept him in, allowing him his attentions, and then push him away, telling myself nothing would ever come of this, and then fall right back into it all?

When I looked back up, Loki’s expression was absolutely thunderous.

He ground out, “That is not why I brought you here, Stjarna.”

I did not believe him, but did not say anything.

“I brought you here,” he continued tightly, “to beg your forgiveness, which you clearly are not so apt to give.”

I scoffed and said dismissively, “Well, Midgard was a stupid idea, anyway—”

“Will you not believe me?” he shouted. “Will you not forgive me what I’ve done?”

I shrank back in my chair and quickly glanced around, hoping that nobody had heard his outburst, but there were only a few others in the room, which was rather large, and none of them were paying attention to us, tucked away in the corner as we were. They were all wrapped up in their own conversations and nobody had seemingly heard Loki’s heated exclamation.

But Loki was not seeing as to whether he had drawn any curious eyes. He was still staring at me, face livid.

“Loki, please,” I implored quietly, trying to calm him. I did not want a scene; that would not be good for us.

“What would you have me do then, Stjarna? Hmm? Crawl upon the floor and beg your forgiveness? I will do it!”

Loki roughly pushed his chair back, stood up, and came around the little table to stand in front of me. I turned towards him in my chair, hoping desperately that he was not actually going to get on the floor.

But he did.

He dropped to his knees in front of me and I looked up and saw, in alarm, that some of the other people in the room had now turned away from their beers to look at us and Loki’s peculiar display.

“Get up! Get up, Loki!” I hissed.

But he only took my hands in his and beseeched, no longer looking so furious, “Stjarna, will you not forgive me what I’ve done?”

“Get. Up,” I said through clenched teeth. I tried to yank my hands out of his, but he held them tightly in my lap.

“Stjarna—”

“No!” I finally cried. “No, I won’t! I won’t forgive you!”

Loki looked slightly surprised. “Even after everything?”

“What are you talking about?” I snapped.

“Everything we’ve done!” he said intensely. “Doesn’t it mean anything to you?”

“Everything we’ve done?” I breathed, feeling the heat of my anger warming my cheeks. That he should bring all of that up now irked me. He was using it against me, but he would do that, would he not? I shook my head. I did not want to think of all that we had done. I did not want to remember him touching me, kissing me, so intimately, so affectionately.

It had all been a charade and I would demean it however I could.

“Everything we’ve done?” I repeated, incensed. “It was nothing, it didn’t mean anything—!”

Suddenly, Loki’s expression turned dark. “Do not reduce what we did, Stjarna.”

I stared at him, amazed.

He spoke of it as if it actually meant something, as if it had not all been a mistake, a stupid, stupid mistake, a foolish lack of self-control on my part, and a fake and cruel manipulation on his part. Yes, I wanted to mock what we had done, diminish it as much as I could. It would make it easier for me to accept the fact that it had all just been a game to him—all for one end goal.

The brief pleasure his attentions had brought me did not make up for all the pain and trouble. But had I not always known that, deep down? That it was all false, that nothing would ever come of it? And yet, I had always let Loki hold me and kiss me because nobody had ever done that to me—not like he did—so reverentially, so adoringly.

I knew that I was broken and I had loved it when he did those things to me because it made me feel unbroken. For those brief moments, Loki had made me feel wanted. I had let him do all of that to me because, at one time, I suppose some small part of me, the foolish and reckless part of me, thought that he was different from Valdrlund. I had thought that when he held me and kissed me, every time he touched me, it was because he wanted me and not just my body to slake his lusts for one night.

And thinking on it now, I wanted to cry, but I swallowed my tears and bit out, “What we did was a mistake and I regret it all—”

Before I could finish, Loki shot up off the floor, his face a mask of fury and teeth bared. He leaned over me, bringing his face close to mine, and curled his hands on either side of me on the chair. I leaned back as much as I could, my body suddenly cold.

I was no longer glancing around to see if anybody was looking at us.

“Do not act, Stjarna, as if you did not take pleasure in everything we did.”

“Everything we did—!”

“Yes!” he hissed. “When I kissed you and touched you and had my tongue in your mouth and my fingers between your legs and had you shaking in my arms—”

I stared at Loki, wide-eyed, as he proceeded to recount in lurid detail everything we had ever done that could possibly be taken for intimate—even our more tame encounters he managed to make sound filthy. He kept his eyes trained on me as he spoke, kept his voice low and quiet and tinged with what almost sounded like threat.

He spoke of that morning when he had touched me. How I had felt pressed up against him, how I had tasted and how the sweet and heady smell of me even now permeated his dreams; how he would imagine how wonderful my bare body would feel against his, how when he touched himself he thought of me beneath him and on top of him, and how sometimes he could barely stand to be around me because he was so eaten up with desire for me.

The entire time, I was paralyzed in the chair, eyes locked with his. My breathing became erratic and he just kept going on and on and he would not stop and I could feel a hot, uncomfortable flush spreading over my skin and through my body. I gripped the sides of the chair as well, as if trying to keep myself based in reality, attempting to keep myself from visualizing all that he spoke of. I was trying to hold on to my anger, trying to, in vain, banish the rapidly building pressure between my thighs.

“You speak of it all as if it were nothing,” Loki finally said, his voice no longer steady, “but you’ve had me against my door, Stjarna. You’ve had me lying in the floor, panting at just the thought of you—” suddenly he moved closer and I stiffened in the chair even more than I had been; his lips brushed against my cheek and then were at my ear “—and unable to even move for just the thought of you beneath me and me inside you—”

“Stop!” I finally gasped, closing my eyes.

Loki pulled his face back and I knew he was staring at me, but I kept my eyes shut. I could see it all, everything he had spoken of, and I remembered all the times I had lain in my own bed, imagining us together—all the fantasies that had me twisting and turning and unable to sleep, all the desires too impossible and too forbidden that I had dismissed with the knowledge that they would never come about.

“Stjarna,” Loki said softly, “look at me.”

Almost involuntarily, I opened my eyes, and in looking at him, I did not know whether I should be furious that he had brought all of it back up, spoken as if it had all meant something, or alarmed that him merely recounting our assumingly meaningless trysts should ignite in my lower half a fire so hot that I was squeezing my legs together as discreetly as possible in discomfort.

I tightened my grip on the seat of the chair—my entire body was on fire.

Loki rose up and looked down at me, as if waiting for me to speak, but when I remained silent, trying to rid myself of these images that he had put into my mind, he turned away without a word and left to climb the stairs up to our room.

After a long, terse moment, I turned in the chair towards the table and closed my eyes again. I tried to calm my breathing, slow my heartbeat, but it was all just too overwhelming and I put my elbows on the table and hung my head in my hands.

I wondered if it had been difficult for him to tell me all of that, to admit to me that when he lay in his bed at night, when he touched himself and brought himself to culmination, he thought of me—to know that when he sought release, he imagined us together.

I sat there for a few minutes, trying to collect myself before I went upstairs and had to see him again, struggling to quash this sudden wave of desire.

I hated that he could do this to me. It made me furious, as well as sorely confused, and I cursed him and myself.

There was nothing that could be done, I thought, to remedy this most unpleasant situation. I did not know why we fought like this, anyway. It never changed anything and it never would. We would, somehow, move past this, as we did with everything else, and then it would all culminate again in another huge fight—an endless cycle, over and over and over.

I shook my head, defeated.

I wiped my eyes, which had begun to swim with tears, and ignored the curious looks I was receiving from the other guests, who had most likely been discussing Loki and me over their beers. I dragged myself out of the chair and saw the food, completely untouched, still on the table. I thought what a waste it all was.

Slowly, I made my way upstairs, dreading to see him. I stood in front of our door and, with some sense of foreboding, opened it, stepped inside, and closed it behind me.

Loki was sitting on the edge of the bed, bare from the waist up.

He had hung his cloak on a peg on the wall, along with his belt and bags, and taken his doublet and tunic and folded them and set them on the table next to a candle he had lit. Now he was taking his boots off, preparing for bed. That must have meant he was still angry, as he usually insisted we practice seidr before bed.

I swallowed hard and braced myself. I did not want another confrontation, though I wanted to settle this.

I removed my boots and cloak and belt took my hair down before speaking to him. I was trying to give myself a little more time, trying to gather my thoughts before this inevitably turned into another shouting match.

I only dithered about for another moment before hesitantly sitting next to him. He did not look up at me.

“Loki,” I said quietly, looking down at my hands.

I played with my fingers, nervously thinking on what to say. Perhaps ask if we could carry on as if nothing had ever happened, as foolish as that sounded. But it had always been that, had it not? Whether we had kissed one another or screamed at one another, it was always reduced to never speaking of it again. Push it to the recesses of our minds, pray that it was never brought up again. I think I thought it would make it easier on both of us.

“I… I do not wish to fight with you,” I murmured.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him turn his head slightly.

“You will not believe me,” he responded quietly.

“Believe you?”

“You will not believe that I am sorry. I know not else how to show you. I know not what else to do, Stjarna.”

I stared down at my fingers. I gave a small shake of my head and looked back up to tell him I did not know if there was anything he could do to ease the hurt.

But the words never left my mouth.

Before I could react, Loki reached up, took my face in his hands, and kissed me.

My stomach nearly leapt into my throat when he opened my lips with his and ran his tongue fiercely through my mouth. He knotted his fingers in my hair, pulling me closer to him and holding me tightly, as if he could not get close enough.

I grabbed his forearms, feeling the slow-burning embers deep in the pit of my belly that he had managed to ignite downstairs, that I thought I had successfully doused, stoked once again into a blazing fire.

After a long moment, Loki broke the kiss and pulled away, but kept my head in his hands. He languidly opened his eyes, breaths coming shallowly.

I stared at him in shock, my mind racing.

I thought of everything, it seemed, in that moment; I thought of when I had seen him taking that girl against the column, when he had come to me and tried to reproach me for supposedly lying with his brother and then when he had told me we were coming to Midgard so he could make it all up to me—how excited he had been before I had shot him down. I thought of how all this time he had kept his distance and made a visible effort not to make me uncomfortable, as he had promised. I thought of how hard he was trying to keep me happy.

And gazing at him, I knew that I still should have pushed him away. I should have rationalized to myself why I was rejecting him, why I had done so all along, but for some odd reason, I could no longer justify it. Rather unexpectedly, I decided that I did not want to think anymore. I did not want to be angry or sad anymore. I only wanted to feel, wanted for Loki to satisfy this hollow ache, in spite of everything, and so before I could try to sensibly think this through and talk myself out of it, I closed my eyes and leaned forward and kissed him.

As soon as my lips met with his, excitement like I had not felt in so long surged through me. I reached up and ran my fingers into the hair at his neck as he had done with me. I held his head to mine, my lips working against his, my tongue roving through his mouth with some frantic intensity. I wanted to taste him—I had not tasted him in such a long time.

“Stjarna,” he murmured against my lips before pulling away from me. I opened my eyes, confused.

“Loki?” I breathed, tightening my fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I am sorry,” he said breathlessly. “I am sorry for everything I have done to hurt you, Stjarna, and for everything that has not yet happened. For surely I will upset you again, somehow.”

I did not feel anger or hate, or even doubt, as I thought I might. Only an emptiness in my chest. I searched his eyes, perhaps looking for any trace of mendacity, wondering as to his sincerity, but I realized then that I believed him. I did believe that he was sorry.

My voice was quiet. “I forgive you, Loki.”

And as soon as the words left my mouth, it felt as if a weight had been lifted off of my chest. I smiled tiredly to myself, relieved at the sudden sense of elation that filled me. “I forgive you,” I said again.

Loki smiled at me, but it was not an arrogant or devious smile. Just a smile that brought out those crinkles at the corners of his eyes, that seemed to light up his entire face.

I went willingly when he pulled me to him and kissed me again.

And when he began to push me backwards onto the bed, began moving to climb on top of me, and I did not push him away, I knew then that I was lost. I could not deny, could not pretend not to feel, how powerfully my body responded to his, how vehemently it now was begging for release.

I wrapped my arms around Loki’s neck just as he grabbed my hips. A jolt of pleasure—or anxiety, I could not tell which—coursed through me at his touch, as he dragged my body to the middle of the bed and underneath him as he crawled over me and straddled my hips.

He leaned down and rained desperate kisses on me, on my lips, under my jaw, the side of my throat. I clutched him tighter to me, loving the feeling of his hard and sinuous form pressed so closely to me, whispering his name both in adoration and worry as he moved his head down and ran his lips over my exposed collarbones.

I had never been so inflamed, never so afraid of something as frivolous as sex.

Not even in Vanaheim, when Valdrlund had first taken me to his bed, had I been so nervous. But I had not been imperfect in Vanaheim. Now I was and I knew that sex was trivial; it was not a sacrosanct act, in my experience, though I had heard it was supposed to be. I only knew it as something quick, driven purely by lust and not adulation or affection. Something, for the most part, to be endured, as I had endured Valdrlund for a century.

Besides, my body was not sacred. Valdrlund had taught me that well enough.

But with Loki kissing me like this, running his hands over my body like this, so reverently, I wondered if Valdrlund had been wrong. It felt so good and I tried to lose myself in the feeling of Loki on top of me, tried to repress and ignore the panic I could feel brimming just below the surface.

Let me try. Let us try it. Perhaps Eir was right. Perhaps it was just my fear keeping me from it. I would try my best to swallow the apprehension, the fear that I knew would inevitably come.

Loki cupped my cheek and ran his thumb tenderly over my cheek. He breathed, “You know not how many times I’ve imagined this, Stjarna… how I have longed for this with you…”

The heat in the pit of my stomach flared, and something else, something in my chest that made my heart race that was not lust.

I held him tighter to me and buried my face in between his neck and shoulder, kissed his skin as he was doing to me, tried to remind myself that this was Loki, not Valdrlund—not Valdrlund trailing kisses up and down my neck, twining his fingers in my hair, whispering my name, whispering his apologies, knowing what was coming for me…

And then I felt Loki’s hand on my front, untying the thin laces that held the front of my dress closed. He had them open relatively quickly and slipped his fingers inside to undo the little laces at the top of my shift; my stomach tightened in nervousness when he pushed the fabric apart, revealing the paleness of my chest.

I took in a tense breath as Loki gingerly curled his fingers around the edge of the open fabric and pushed it to the side, exposing my right breast, and I whispered his name when he leaned down and took my nipple into his mouth.

I closed my eyes and even though my stomach churned with trepidation, I arched up into him as he grazed his teeth over the sensitive skin, wetting it with his tongue. My breaths were coming faster now and my entire body thrummed with pleasure, which for now seemed to mercifully overshadow the apprehension.

I reached up and tangled my fingers in Loki’s hair as he sucked and nipped at me, occasionally granting me a brief respite to lightly circle his tongue around the pink, puckered flesh. I sighed contentedly when he shifted and took the peak of my other breast into his mouth. I felt him smile against me when I breathed his name again and squeezed my legs on him, almost able to forget what was meant to come next.

After Loki had been lavishing attention to my breasts for some time, leaving them tingling and tender and driving me to almost squirming beneath him, he released me with a teasing scrape of his teeth and my eyes fluttered open. He lifted up to look down at me and his smile only somewhat was able to alleviate the uneasiness I could already feel rising back to the surface.

And then he put his hands on my legs and began pulling my dress up.

“Loki,” I said nervously, starting to sit up, but he leaned forward and kissed me, as if trying to mollify me. He gently pushed me and I fell back onto the bed.

I watched anxiously as he resumed lifting my dress up, making sure to let his fingertips graze my skin, which felt as if it was on fire. I could feel the panic mounting as my dress rose higher, but I gripped the blanket beneath me, trying to will it all down.

I looked up at Loki, my heart racing in my chest, as he finally bunched the fabric around my hips. I saw his eyes linger on the triangle of hair at the top of my legs and I held my breath when he brushed his fingers over it. Slowly he moved his hand down to spread my legs, which were still closed.

My insides seemed to twist in either an eager or terrible anticipation—I could not decide which—when he gently pushed my legs apart, almost consolingly stroking my skin as he went, and then I knew he could see me and my heart was beating so loudly in my chest I was sure he could hear it.

“Stjarna,” Loki said. He looked up at me and he was grinning even more widely and I felt as if I were about to cry.

He did not touch me, as I thought he would, but leaned forward instead and shifted so he could settle his body between my spread legs. I gasped when he pressed his hips forward and I could feel the proof of his desire for me against my center, the rough fabric of his pants grinding enticingly against my bare sex.

Loki kissed me then, deeply and headily, which helped to subdue the panic. Without much thought, I brought my legs up and squeezed them on his hard torso. He broke the kiss and rose up a little to look down at me; he grinned without showing his teeth as he rolled his hips against me.

I whimpered at the feeling of pleasure that coursed through me from just him moving like that.

He did it again, amused at my reaction.

“Loki,” I breathed, tightening my legs on him.

I could not even think of the fear now. All I could feel, all I could focus on, was him against me, and I could only imagine what he would feel like inside of me.

Loki moved above me and then reached between our bodies to touch me. My breath hitched when I felt his hand there between my legs. He trailed his fingers through my folds and I grabbed his shoulders and let out a little whimper, my mouth falling open at the overwhelming sensation of his touching me like this. His face was close to mine and when I looked up at him he lowered his head to capture my lips in a heady kiss. I tried to kiss him back, but it was difficult with his fingers in between my legs like this. I began softly panting into his mouth, but could not attempt to hold the kiss for long; I let my head fall back onto the pillow and arched up into him as he slowly stroked me, letting his fingers linger teasingly over the slick bud at the top of my sex. And then I gasped his name when I felt his fingers descend and dip shallowly into me.

“Stjarna, I cannot—” he kissed my lips, almost urgently, and then my chin and jaw, murmuring breathlessly, “I have to have you now, Stjarna, I have to—”

Before I could even feel alarm, Loki withdrew his fingers and I could feel him, between us, hastily unlacing the front of his pants. All that talk of our naked bodies moving against one another—but by the way his body was trembling, the quickness of his breaths, I did not think he could wait any longer. He had been waiting two years and now it was finally here.

But I felt the panic again—he was going too fast, we were going too fast—when he pushed his pants down over his hips with one hand, his other arm supporting himself above me, keeping his full weight off of me. I put my hands on his arms, dug my fingers into his skin, needing to hold on to something.

I want this, I want this, I kept telling myself, in spite of the fact that I felt now as if I were about to cry. I wanted him, but I knew it was not supposed to feel forced and I knew I was not supposed to feel sick and I hated myself that I was feeling this with him. It was not supposed to be like this with him.

I thought I could still get past it. I squeezed my eyes shut and clutched him tighter to me, pressed my lips to his bare skin, trying to revel in the feeling of his body moving against me as he situated himself, struggling to relax and find pleasure in it all.

And then he shifted and raised his hips, positioning himself to enter me. I felt him against me, then, hard and burning and so eager for me and suddenly all thoughts of moving past it, of simply willing away the uncertainty and panic, were gone from my head.

He would feel, he would know, and I could not bear that.

I could not do it.

Fear like I had not felt in so long surged through me and it welled up in my throat and I screamed.

I tried frantically to close my legs, but he was between them, keeping them wide open. A fresh wave of terror overtook me and I put my hands against his chest and shoved him as hard as I could, crying out hysterically, feeling my eyes burning with tears. 

“No, Loki, get off, get off, please, please get off, stop—!”

Loki hastily rose up and moved off of me, almost falling back when I pushed against him. His face was a mask of shocked confusion at my sudden and frenzied reaction.

After squeezing my legs together and yanking my dress down, I pulled myself up the bed and leaned sideways against the wall, breaths coming rapidly and painfully. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Loki kneeling on the bed, leaning forward on his hands, eyes wide and chest heaving.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked breathlessly, eyes wide with concern. 

As soon as the words had left his mouth, I burst into tears.

Loki did not think it was me—he thought it was him.

I shook my head, even as I cried.

No. It was not him. It was me. It was the memory of Vanaheim, of that bloody night, come back to haunt me.

Through my tears, I saw the realization dawn on his face. He must have recognized then that this was the thing that always had me pulling away from him.

Loki ran his hands through his hair, grabbed a fistful of it and closed his eyes in what looked like exasperation.

“Stjarna,” he pleaded, “please tell me.”

I shut my eyes and did not respond to him. I was trying to calm my breathing, trying to stop crying. I ran my hand over my face and held myself with the other, staring at the opposite wall, unable to look again at Loki.

Then I heard the rustle of fabric as he pulled his pants back up, for they had still been tugged down, and quickly laced them.

He said my name, then, and I felt him moving on the bed, coming towards me, but I opened my eyes and recoiled from him.

“No, no, don’t touch me,” I said tearfully.

Loki leaned back onto his calves and watched me, his expression wretched, while I quietly cried.

“Stjarna,” he begged, “you have to tell me—”

“Please, please,” I shook my head, willing him to be silent. I just wanted silence.

How badly I wanted Loki—I wanted all that he had spoken of earlier. I wanted us kissing and touching again. I wanted my body against his, wanted to make real all of the fantasies he had alluded to. I desperately wanted him—needed him—to satisfy this burning, but all I could think of now was that night, those incomplete images of darkness and blood. The aftermath. I could not purge that night and its repercussions from my mind, no matter how hard I tried to forget, no matter how hard I tried to push it to the depths of my memories. I could never swallow the fear, always rising like bile in my throat. I could never banish the shame, the thought that I was still too ruined to have him.

I wanted to burn the filth and the sorrow of Vanaheim from my body with Loki’s heat, but I could not have him when all I could think of was my screaming and my blood and my fear. I could not have him like that and I despaired, thinking that I would never be able to get past this. My terror was stronger than my desire and I simply could not forget. I could not let it go.

“I am sorry, Loki,” I whispered mournfully, gripping the fabric of my dress between my legs. I was so sorry, sorry I could not tell him why, for I could not bear to relive that night.

Loki merely hung his head, expression miserable.


	21. Part I - Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning/trigger: there is a depiction of a forced miscarriage/abortion in this chapter.

_Stjarnavetr_

_It was dark and cold._

_I was lying down and my entire body felt terribly heavy. It was difficult to move, but I turned my head to the side, blinked, and saw that I was in a very small room that held only a bed, which I was lying on._

_The only sliver of light in the room came from under the heavy door in the opposite wall, which barely illuminated the small space in a faint, orange glow. I saw that the walls were of rough, uneven stone and the floor stained with filth._

_I was in a cell._

_A cold fear gripped my heart._

_I dragged myself into a sitting position and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. I nearly fell forward at the sudden movement, feeling incredibly nauseous. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears and my stomach churned and I felt horribly ill, as if I were about to vomit. My eyes throbbed and my vision swam and I squeezed my eyes shut and sat very still until the spell passed._

_I tried to think back. Where had I last been?_

_Valdrlund._

_I had had supper with Valdrlund in his chambers._

_It had been a small, intimate meal, which I had thought odd. Usually, Valdrlund had such a voracious appetite, but not much else had seemed out of the ordinary. He had told me of his day and I had listened to him without interrupting._

_After we had finished eating, as usual, Valdrlund had taken my hands in his and indicated the bed._

_But I had pulled away and put my hands on my belly._

_“No, it might hurt the child…”_

_“Don’t be silly, Stjarnavetr,” he had cooed, kissing me reassuringly on the forehead. “You are not far enough along.”_

_And so I had let him lead me to his bed, where he helped me onto it and climbed on top of me. He had kissed my forehead again, and then my nose and my lips, and told me he loved me._ _He had put his hand on my belly, then, which had just begun to swell with motherhood, and when he had smiled at me I smiled back._

_These past weeks, Valdrlund and I had lain on his bed together. He would press his ear to my belly, run his hand over it and tell the babe within that its mother was the most beautiful creature in all the Nine Realms and that its father was a crown prince and it would grow up never in want of anything._

_And as he had whispered endearments into my belly, I had thought of how worried I had been when I had told him that I was with his child._

_He was the prince and I but a handmaiden to the queen—and a commoner, no less._

_When I had told him, he had been surprised, but then he had grown excited at the prospect that I was with child, which confused me. I was terrified, but he had held me and kissed me and assured me that all would be well—he would protect me._

_He had undressed me slowly, kissing my shoulders and breasts and belly and the spot between my legs. He scarcely ever did that. He almost always went straight for it, not even bothering to see if I were ready to accept him, but he had seemed to revel in my body and I had very much liked it._

_I had hung onto him, arms wrapped around his neck and legs around his waist, as he moved inside me, making sure not to let his full weight rest on me. All the while, he had trailed light kisses across my skin, murmuring how much he loved me._

_I had cried his name out when he brought me to peak and it was only after I had come twice that he allowed himself to. Afterwards he had pulled me into his arms and smoothed my hair back, pressed his nose into the side of my neck and put his hand on my bare belly and stroked the newly swollen skin, a small grin on his face._

_He hardly ever acted like that._

_Oh, but how I loved that side of him._

_It seemed that I could forget everything else when he was so loving to me—his temper and his cruelty. But he was not always so angry. Usually, he was quite calm and he treated me so well._

_After a while, he had asked me if I was thirsty and I was, so he had kissed me, told me to stay put, and slipped off the bed. There had already been wine on the table, but he had opened a fresh flagon and poured me a cup and afterwards I had felt very tired._

_I had curled into him, my eyes heavy._

_But I had not wanted to fall asleep. I could not remember the last time Val had shown me such affection, but I had not been able to keep my eyes open and even as I was lingering precariously on the fringes of whatever blackness I felt like falling into, I heard him whispering to me._

_I had heard his voice far away, soft and pleading, “Please forgive me, Stjarnavetr, please forgive me…”_

_Please forgive me?_

_I tried to think._

_Had I fallen asleep after that? Fainted? I could not remember how I had got here. It was all so hazy. I went through the night again. Yes, I had eaten with Valdrlund and then lain with him and fallen asleep… had I not?_

_I looked up and around, my breaths coming faster in my nervousness._

_There were no windows in here. What time was it? What day?_

_I stood up suddenly, panic seizing me._

_And then, pain._

_Pain like I had never felt in my life clutched at my stomach—hot fingers of agony searing my insides._

_I screamed—I could not help it—and sank to my knees, barely catching myself with my hands before my face smashed into the stone floor. Great, rolling waves of blinding pain emanated from my lower half, barreling up and through my body, feeling as if they were going to burst out of my throat._

_My legs trembled; I could not hold myself up and I fell forward, cheek pressed hard to the cold floor._

_The pain, I could not think of anything but the pain._

_I rolled onto my side and doubled over, screaming again as a fresh wave of agony surged through my body._

_It all settled in between my legs, in the pit of my stomach, where it boiled and pulsed. Every movement brought a new wave of anguish, every excruciating throb renting another scream from my throat._

_And then the blood came, pooling beneath me._

_I thought I was going to die. I was on my back now, sobbing, screaming, suffocating._

_I was barely able to wonder, through this torment, why nobody was coming. Why was nobody coming to help me?_

_And I cried his name, the only word I could think of, beseeching him to come to me, over and over and over, begging for him to please come to me, to please help me._

_Valdrlund!_

_But he did not come._

_I spasmed on the floor when another bolt of agony seared through my body, carving a path of fire through my limbs and insides._

_And then I could feel it, my child, my babe. It was being expelled, torn from me._

_I clawed desperately at my dress, trying to lift it up, but the pain was too immense and I could not sit up. And so lying on my back, I tried to staunch the blood pouring out of me, but it was all to no avail._

_I pressed my hands to my belly, splayed my blood-soaked fingers above the spot where the pain was most intense, above my womb. I distraughtly recited the runes in my head, and then began screaming them out loud when I could not feel my seidr, no, not enough of it, coming._

_The seidr, please let it not be too late. Let it save me, let it save it._

_With all my might, I tried to block out the nearly unbearable pain, bit my own tongue so hard until my mouth was filled with blood, tried to focus only on my seidr, trying to send it into me._

_But the blood kept coming, running in little black rivers through the cracks of the floor, and I could see it and it wasn’t working and I cried harder. Why wasn’t it working?_

_I lost the seidr. I tried again, struggling to stop crying so I could focus on my magic, but I could not do it. I could not focus for the pain. I was too weak and I could not hold it._

_I could feel it then, coming out of me, sliding out of me so easily, everything in vain._

_It was lost._

_I stayed where I was, my body shaking violently, too terrified to move, too terrified to see my babe, ripped from my womb, on the floor beneath my dress, surely drenched in blood, floating in all of this blood._

_But the blood did not stop. The pain, this suffering, did not stop._

_I tried to scream again, but nothing came out and my throat felt as if it was on fire, the flesh sloughed away from all of my screaming. And now all I could do was cry, left here to drown in it all._

_It hurt so much and everything was red and black and starry._

_But then, suddenly, light._

_I twisted around on the floor and, through this veil of red, saw that the door had opened._

_A Vanr guard stood in the doorway. He came towards me and I scrambled backwards on the floor, saw only for a brief moment, in the dimness, a small bloody mass, and then I looked back up when he reached for me and grabbed a fistful of my hair, matted with my blood._

_He wrenched at my head and I tried to scream, struggling against him. I attempted to shove him away, but he was so strong. He grabbed my arm, fingernails digging into the flesh. I cried out, thrashing against him, smearing the blood all over him._

_Disgust on his face, tears and blood on mine._

_I looked up at him, beneath his helmet._

_Valdrlund._

 

__

 

And suddenly, there was nothing.

 

I was sitting upright in the bed, drenched in sweat. My dress stuck to me like a second skin, rank with my fear, and my body was rigid with terror. My eyes were burning with tears, my breaths coming in short, painful, rapid gasps, and my heart was racing so quickly in my chest that I feared it would burst.

 

For a brief moment, I thought I was back in that cell. It was cold and dark and there was that orange glow.

 

I went to scream, expecting to see the bed soaked in blood—but then saw Loki sitting at the table in front of a lit candle, casting a flickering black shadow onto the orange.

 

He was looking over at me, eyes wide. I could see the last bits of a seidr blade shimmer and dissolve in his hand as he quickly stood up.

 

“Stjarna?” he asked worriedly.

 

“Loki,” I breathed, right before I burst into violent sobs. I buried my face in my hands, my entire body shaking. I coughed and choked, hardly able to breathe through the tears.

 

I felt the bed depress as Loki climbed onto it.

 

“Stjarna?” I heard him murmur.

 

He knelt in front of me and, without thinking, I leaned forward and he wrapped his arms around me and I buried my face in between his neck and shoulder, still sobbing. He stroked my hair, held me tightly to him and attempted to comfort me.

 

But he could not console me. Not for this.

 

Even as Loki moved to lie down with me in his arms, I was thinking back to it.

 

I had never had a chance to cry, to weep and to rage, after it had happened—there had been no time to mourn. Within days, I had been banished to Asgard and, in the days following, I had been in a state of shock, unable to speak, barely able to move for the pain, or comprehend what had happened to me.

 

Even before Eir had pronounced me satisfactorily healed, weeks afterwards, I had been working hard on forgetting, blocking out the memories, driving them to the depths of my mind. I would not allow myself to think back on it, to see it in my head and relive the terror and despair of that cell.

 

But now it had all come back.

 

I cried until I was too exhausted to cry anymore, too exhausted to question why Loki smelled so strongly of beer, and fell asleep, drained and sorrowful, in his arms.

 

__

 

I awoke when it was not yet morning and the candle was out, having completely burnt away.

 

Loki must have forgotten to put it out.

 

I was resting on my side and Loki was behind me, one arm thrown out above my head on the pillow and the other wrapped around my middle and face buried in my hair. I could feel his breath, warm and soft, against my neck through my hair, and the gentle rise and fall of his bare chest against my back.

 

For a split second, my first instinct was to throw him off of me. I wished to open the shutters and breathe in the wintry air and cleanse myself of this lingering heat, this stale sweat on my body, but I did not move. I lay there, staring ahead, thinking on how much I liked him pressed against me in this most intimate and most innocent manner.

 

But it was not enough.

 

Beneath the blanket—Loki must have managed to pull the blanket over us after I had fallen asleep—and his arm, I ever so slowly turned over until I was facing him. He cracked his eyes open, having been awoken by my movements.

 

“Stjarna?” he whispered, watching me through half-lidded eyes.

 

I shook my head, indicating for him to be silent. I felt his fingers curl slightly on my back before he moved it down and splayed his fingers above my buttocks. He pulled me forward until our fronts were touching before slowly closing his eyes again.

 

I pushed myself further into his body, once again catching a whiff of beer. Nevertheless, I tucked my arms between us, grateful for the warmth.

 

How easy it was to fall asleep again in Loki’s arms without the fear of that night coming back to terrorize me.

 

__

 

I awoke next when Loki kissed me.

 

I kept my eyes closed when I felt him gently press his lips to my brow and linger there. Slowly, then, he disentangled himself from me and sat up on the edge of the bed. He remained there for a long while, staring at the wall it looked like, before getting up. I heard him moving around and then heard the door open and close.

 

I opened my eyes and sat up.

 

My throat was terribly dry and I suspected my voice would be hoarse if I were to try to speak. I rolled off of the bed and nearly stumbled to the shutters. I threw them open.

 

The early morning was painfully bright. The blast of freezing winter air lifted my hair off my shoulders and I took in a deep, shuddering breath. The cold air seemed to ignite the dried sweat on my skin and I shivered, but stood there and relished the chill.

 

As I trembled from the cold, I wondered if Loki almost taking me, that overwhelming panic I had felt, had caused those bloody memories of Vanaheim to resurface.

 

After I had so violently reacted to Loki, after he had begged me to tell him why, and I would not, I had sat there, curled up against the wall, trying to repress the panic. And when Loki realized that I was not going to tell him—not even speak to him—he had left the room and not come back for a long time. I had finally lay down and fallen into an uneasy sleep.

 

Loki must not have gotten into bed with me when he had come back from wherever he had been. He had opted to sit at the table and had been practicing seidr by himself when I had bolted upright out of that dream. It had brought everything back, everything that I had tried so hard these past years to forget.

 

I stared out of the window, fingers gripping the shutters, for a long while before the door opened again and Loki entered, holding a wooden plate of bread and cheese, a cup of beer, and handful of new candles. He looked surprised to see me up and the window thrown open to let in the wintry air.

 

He would have been angry at my freezing of the room, I am sure, but Loki had never minded the cold. He had always seemed very tolerable of it.

 

He set the food on the table in the corner of the room and held up the candles. “I got some new candles from the innkeeper.”

 

I looked at him.

 

“And I’ve brought you food,” he said, putting the candles on the table. He obviously intended for us to stay here for a few more days, at least.

 

I closed the shutters without a sound and made my way to the table. I sat down, only suddenly realizing how hungry and thirsty I was. I took the cup, drained it, wishing to the gods that I had a flagon of Asgardian wine in front of me instead—but I was not picky at the moment. I picked up the cheese and took a bite. Certainly, one thing I would not miss about Midgard was the food.

 

I chewed slowly, staring at the space where the wall met the floor across the room.

 

Loki stood there, watching me in silence. Finally, he sat on the other stool at the table and stared at me.

 

My eyes flickered to his.

 

He had dark circles under his eyes and he looked weary.

 

“Why do you smell like beer?” I inquired, before he could ask me what had happened last night.

 

He said, as if it were of no consequence, “I went downstairs and had a drink.”

 

I looked down, knowing that I was the cause. He had needed something to calm him after my little episode the night before.

 

I wondered then, briefly, if he had spilled any on him, as he absolutely reeked of it. I would not doubt if he had drank a dozen or more cups of beer, as he had been gone for hours. But then again, this Midgardian alcohol hardly affected us. He could probably drink thirty cups and still be able to walk in a straight line.

 

I took another small bite of cheese.

 

Loki said quietly, “You said his name.”

 

I glanced up at him. “What?”

 

“While you slept. You kept saying his name.”

 

“Whose?” I ventured, trying to keep the worry out of my voice.

 

“Valdrlund’s.”

 

I swallowed hard, suddenly not feeling very hungry.

 

What had Loki thought, to hear me saying Valdrlund’s name over and over? Had I been whispering it, crying it out? I had been screaming in the dream, I remember, though I am sure Loki would have promptly tried to wake me if I had been screaming.

 

“And then you screamed it,” Loki stated. “And then you sat up and started crying.”

 

I remembered the dream. Valdrlund at the end, dressed in the armor of a Vanr guard, opening the door and grabbing me by the hair. I wondered why I had dreamt that—it had never happened. In fact, the cell door had not been opened at all for two days afterwards.

 

I wondered why he had appeared in my dream like that, why I had cried his name out.

 

“Stjarna,” Loki said gently. “You have to tell me.”

 

My entire body went cold, and not just because I had opened the shutters and let all the cold air into the room. The thought of telling Loki—of recounting what had happened to me in Vanaheim—frightened me.

 

“No,” I said immediately.

 

He shook his head, looking incredulous. His voice was firm. “Yes, Stjarna. You cannot keep on like this.”

 

I looked down at my hands.

 

“Won’t you tell me?” he urged, his face morose.

 

When I did not reply, he said, “I cannot stand seeing you like this. Something bad happened—”

 

“Yes!” I exclaimed, feeling the pinpricks of tears in my eyes. “Something bad happened! But I can’t tell you, Loki, I can’t tell you…”

 

“Why not?”

 

I pressed my lips together and began to wring my hands below the table.

 

“Stjarna, why not?” he pressed.

 

I looked away to the side, feeling dread.

 

“ _Stjarna—_ ”

 

“Because you will not want me!” I cried out.

 

I saw his lips part in surprise. He said, almost in disbelief, “Will not want you?”

 

Oh, but it was not just that. That was the least of it, really. I was terrified of what he would think of me afterwards. I was so afraid that he would think of me differently, that he would never see me the same way again. How could he not? And telling him would be reliving it all, would bring everything back. I did not think I could bear that—the dream had been horrifying enough.

 

Loki leaned forward and shook his head. “Stjarna, you are mistaken. I don’t see what could possibly not make me want you.”

 

I only shook my head.

 

“You cannot carry on like this,” he observed.

 

I could feel the tears coming on again.

 

Loki exhaled sharply and went to reiterate. “Stjarna, you—”

 

“My father is a painter,” I blurted.

 

Loki looked momentarily confused. “What? A painter?”

 

“Yes. Andimódr is his name,” I said quietly, my stomach churning. “He is the royal court painter in Vanaheim. Or… he was. I know not if he still is.”

 

I had often wondered if they had kept him on after his daughter had been sent from the court in disgrace, exiled from Vanaheim without warning and without a word.

 

“Andimódr?” Loki asked in surprise. “We know the name in Asgard. Mother once considered hiring him for my and Thor’s portraits. You are his daughter?”

 

I gave a slight nod. “Yes, his only child.”

 

Loki stared at me and then finally asked, when I remained silent, staring down at my hands, “What about him, then?”

 

“It was through my father that Valdrlund first caught sight of me,” I explained quietly. “He was commissioned to paint Valdrlund’s portrait. My mother… my mother had just recently died and so my father took me with him to the royal palace. He thought I might like to see it…”

 

My voice trailed off. I was quiet for a long moment, but Loki did not say anything. He was waiting for me.

 

“I sat in the room with them while my father painted Valdrlund.”

 

I recalled sitting there in the back of the room with a book, hearing the dabbing of my father’s paintbrush, the scrape of his knife as he fixed a mistake, and him asking the motionless Prince Valdrlund to correct a fold in his robe or to turn this way or that way.

 

Valdrlund had been so regal-looking, I remembered. I had thought him very handsome. He was tall and broad, with pale gold hair like mine down to his shoulders and a close-cropped, matching beard. He had fierce blue eyes which always seemed to be trained on me when I looked up at him. In fact, he much resembled Thor.

 

After that day’s session, and my father had been packing up his supplies, Valdrlund had approached me and tried to speak with me. He had asked me my name and told me that I was so very pretty. He told me that it was a shame one as lovely as myself was not here at court putting all the other women to shame. I had thought that funny and had laughed.

 

He would tell me later that was when he had fallen in love with me.

 

“Valdrlund hardly spoke to me that day… but shortly after, I received a summons from the palace. From Valdrlund. I was to come to the royal palace and live there as one of the queen’s handmaidens. My father was furious. He knew exactly what was going on. He knew what would befall me and it tore him apart because he knew it was his fault. If he had not taken me to the palace, Valdrlund would not have seen me. He knew how Valdrlund was. He had seen it, but I had not. I did not know anything then.”

 

I thought back to before I had gone away, for I could not very well ignore the order of the crown prince. I remembered my father begging me to be careful around Valdrlund, but I was young and did not understand. I did not know the nature of men. I knew what went on behind closed doors, knew of lust and carnal things, but had never experienced it myself. I never questioned why one such as Valdrlund, such an illustrious prince, should on a whim want me without having spoken a dozen words to me.

 

“I went to the palace. I was not greeted with kindness. I was only a commoner. The other women and even Queen Akkerivif… they all knew why I had been brought here and they all thought they knew what would become of me. Valdrlund never kept his mistresses for long. He would grow bored of them and send them away.”

 

I looked down at my hands and said sadly, “But they were all wrong.”

 

Oh, how wrong they had been. I had not fallen to the wayside as they had suspected. But was that something to be proud of? That I had not been like the others? Should I have been proud that he had kept me in his bed longer than any other woman before me? Look where it had gotten me…

 

“I became his mistress and was that for a century.”

 

I left it at that. I did not wish to elaborate anymore on it.

 

Though, even now, I could remember so vividly.

 

Valdrlund had sent his page, a boy no older than me—I even remembered his name, it had been Skapgódr—to fetch me my second night at the palace. I had nervously gone to his chambers, knowing what was coming and yet unable to imagine it. I was so young—I had never lain with a man, never even seen a man, and at that point in my life, had barely managed to bring myself to culmination.

 

Valdrlund took me to his bed that night, having seemed thrilled at the fact that I was a virgin. There were no honeyed words, no reassurances, as he took that which I would never have again. We had lain together twice during the night and he told me that he had been correct in bringing me to court. In the morning he had sent me away and promised me that he would soon call me to him again.

 

And so the cycle began; when Valdrlund summoned me, we would lie together. I usually did not stay the night with him, but would return to my rooms before morning. But I did not much mind. Even in the beginning, I did not think I would want to spend the entire night with him. Sometimes, he would send Skapgódr to tell me beforehand that my presence was not required that night. Oftentimes, it was because he had taken another woman to his bed.

 

But always he would come back to me—or, rather, call me to him.

 

And so I grew used to Valdrlund and the years had passed.

 

In the beginning, it was not all so bad. I learned to enjoy Valdrlund’s attentions and sought to please him and even began to anticipate when we might next lie together. I had never before known the touch of a man and I very much liked it when he touched me; I discovered that I liked it when he used his fingers and tongue on me and let me sit on top of him. I had never thought that it all could feel so good.

 

I was not like his other mistresses, I came to find out. He had never kept one so long, I heard. He would tire of them quickly, stop summoning them, or have them moved out of the palace. But I did not bore him which, to an extent, I was grateful for.

 

But then things changed.

 

Valdrlund eventually stopped even bothering to please me. He would grow angry at me for the littlest things, grab me by my arms and hair, scream at me. Sometimes he would strike me. He would come to my chambers, drunk, and demand that I give myself to him. And afterwards when I lay silent and shaking, he would express remorse for what he had done and heal me with his seidr, if it had been a particularly violent confrontation. But always it would always come back to me, how I should have done this or that, and he would not have gotten angry with me. I just had to try harder, he always said.

 

Somehow I had been able to resign myself to this.

 

I closed my eyes, fighting for composure.

 

“It was when… when I became with child…” I trailed off, struggling to fight back the tears now threatening to spill over. I looked up and saw Loki staring at me, lips parted slightly in surprise, to know that once I had carried a child, for however brief a time.

 

Truly, it had not been that long ago. Less than three years ago I had been sharing Valdrlund’s bed, had his seed swelling my belly.

 

It had been a mistake, my getting pregnant—my fault. Valdrlund tasked me with keeping myself without child. After we would couple, I would perform a spell on myself to keep his seed from latching onto my womb, but that night—he had come to me drunk and I had lain there and let him spend his desires in me—I had forgotten. I do not remember why I had forgotten afterwards, but I had, and I had become pregnant.

 

I managed to somehow keep the tears down. I swallowed hard and could feel my face burning, feel my heartbeat coming faster. I searched Loki’s expression for any trace of disgust, but saw nothing.

 

“When I became with child… Valdrlund was so happy. He acted so happy.”

 

We would lie on his bed together and he would press his face to my belly, grinning and whispering to the babe inside of how lucky it was to have a mother such as me. How beautiful and how loved I was, how beautiful and loved it would be. He would run his hand over my stomach, pretend to feel it quickening, would laugh at my surprise, and he would kiss my belly and I wanted to cry just thinking of it.

 

Such hollow intimacies and broken promises.

 

“But I was afraid. I was not of the nobility. I could not bear the prince’s child. It was a danger to the royal line.”

 

My child, if it had ever been born, could have attempted to claim the throne from Valdrlund’s inevitable legitimate heirs. Valdrlund could not have a bastard running around on the side—there was too much danger in it.

 

“And the king… he found out. I know not how… and he confronted me…”

 

A dreadful heat rose in my chest when remembering.

 

King Aldregimildr had called me for an audience and asked if it were true that I was with his son’s child. When I had tentatively confirmed that I was indeed, he had come down off of his throne, in spite of his recent decline in health, and hit me. He had dragged me to the floor by my hair, spit on me and screamed at me, called me a whore and a slut and a bitch.

 

My voice began to tremble. “I told Valdrlund. He grew angry and confronted his father and then told me—he—he told me all was well and I believed him.”

 

I had always wondered, what had Aldregimildr said to his son to satisfy him, to make him go along with the plan to ruin me? Valdrlund had never been the resolute type. I had always known that he could be so easily swayed.

 

“It was just a week or so later... Valdrlund and I... we—we had been eating in his chambers and then he took me to his bed—” tears began to roll down my face, but I did not look at Loki, no longer seemed to care that I was revealing to him these intimate moments “—and he made love to me and told me he loved me and he was so sorry and I didn’t know what he was talking about—perhaps about when his father had confronted me—but he knew—” I could feel the sobs coming up now and I tried my best to hold them back “—he knew—he knew… he gave me that wine and he knew—”

 

I could not hold it back anymore and I put my face in my hands and began to cry quietly.

 

Valdrlund had known. He had known all along. He knew while we ate together that last night, knew what was coming for me while he undressed me and kissed me and spoke so lovingly of our child and took what he had always wanted. And even while I had been slipping into unconsciousness, wondering why I was suddenly so tired, he had whispered of his love for me, whispered his sorrows into my ear.

 

And then I had woken up in that cell.

 

I finally managed to stop crying, though my voice was small and quavering.

 

“I—I was put into a—a cell. For me to lose the babe away from others. So that my screaming could not be—could not be heard, and I could not be se—seen.” My face crumpled and I tried again to suppress the tears, but it was so difficult thinking of it all. “They—they left me there for two—for two days…”

 

I could not bear to even finish.

 

Two days I had sat on that floor, delirious and drenched in my own stinking blood, unable to tear my eyes away from the little corpse of my child.

 

I squeezed my hands together, which now were violently trembling beneath the table.

 

But it had not been enough to kill Valdrlund’s little bastard. They thought me a danger, as well, thought that I had, laughably, grown too influential over Valdrlund. I had been his mistress for so long, after all—not like the others. They thought perhaps that he meant to make me his queen when Aldregimildr died, for the king had recently fallen to frail health. They thought it best to just get rid of me. And so I was exiled, but only after they had forcibly rid me of the threat.

 

“It was an Einheri who came and got me,” I said quietly. “The queen, the Allfather, I know not, sent some Einherjar to Vanaheim to collect me after all had been decided.”

 

I remembered the cell door had been opened after two days and I had not even looked up from where I lay on the floor. The Einheri had picked me up and carried me out of the cell, followed by a Vanr guard, leaving behind them that grisly scene. The Einheri had not seemed to mind the now dried and foul-smelling blood caked on me—or, if he had, he did not say anything as he walked with me in his arms.

 

“He told me that I was exiled from Vanaheim and that I was going to Asgard, where I would serve Queen Frigga there as I had done here. It had all been decided in those two days, while I—while I was locked up. Somebody, probably Aldregimildr, had spoken to Odin Allfather or Queen Frigga and begged them to take the Whore of Vanaheim out of his realm, for she was exiled.”

 

But I had been unable to think and I could barely comprehend his words. I remember that I had murmured Valdrlund’s name over and over in my state, not yet grasping the fact that he had been involved in my downfall. But later, it had not taken much thought to realize that he was the one who had given me the wine, laced with whatever poison meant to rid me of his own child.

 

The Einheri had carried me the whole way to the Bifröst site, cradling my head, while I slipped in and out of consciousness. There had been two or three other Einherjar waiting for him to return with me, along with a few Vanr guards who were there to oversee the final stage of my banishment.

 

One of the Einheri had called Heimdall’s name and then we had been taken up and over Bifröst.

 

“As soon as I arrived in Asgard, I was taken to the healing rooms.”

 

I must have looked a horror, saturated in my own rancid blood and half-dead. I could remember the expressions of the healers as they looked down at me, the look in their eyes when they realized they could not fix me. It was all too far gone. My womb was nearly eaten away, they had said. They tried regenerative spells and seidr on the surrounding tissue, for they had been damaged, too, by whatever poison had been slipped to me. They had been able to heal me to a point, after many sessions, though my womb was still beyond damaged.

 

Eir had told me I would never be able to bear children, though they had been able to heal me sufficiently enough so that I could still lie with another. But that news did not comfort me in the least. I had wondered why I would ever again want to lie with another.

 

And even as time passed, I had never allowed myself to believe Eir. I still had believed, and obviously still did believe, that I was still too ruined, too unfit to lie with another. I suppose I did not think myself capable of giving to Loki what he wanted, nor what I, now, wanted.

 

I had not the courage to try it.

 

I stared at the floor and, without really wanting to, thought back to the pain. I could not imagine it again, truly. It had only lasted a few minutes, I knew, but it had felt like an eternity. Just long enough to strip my womb.

 

There were potions that would rid a woman of her child. There was always an amount of pain to these concoctions, I knew, but never like what I had experienced. The potion that had been given to me—either by order of Aldregimildr or his son—was not meant to just kill the child in me. It was meant to ruin my insides—and it had—to keep the Whore of Vanaheim from ever conceiving again.

 

“I cannot bear children,” I whispered somberly.

 

I was quiet for a long time before finally allowing myself to look at Loki. I had not looked up at him in a while, too fearful for what I might see. Repugnance. Pity.

 

But he was not looking at me. His head was turned and his eyes were closed.

 

“L—Loki?” I managed.

 

He opened his eyes and glanced up at me and it was not revulsion or sympathy I saw in his gaze, but anger. He stared at me for a long moment before his expression softened and he shook his head and stood up. He came around the table and before I could ask what he was doing, he held his hand out for me to take. I hesitantly slipped my fingers into his and he pulled me up and into his arms.

 

He pressed his cheek to mine and lowered his head and kissed the top of my shoulder, then the side of my neck. He held his face there and did not say anything.

 

He did not need to.

 

I relaxed in his arms, feeling the heaviness of this burden slowly dissipate. This terrible and ghastly secret.

 

I closed my eyes, feeling the tears roll down my face. Loki pulled back after a few moments and took my face in his hands. He kissed my swollen cheeks and stroked them with his thumbs, wiping away the tears, before he put his forehead to mine.

 

Loki reached down and took my hand and gently pulled me towards the bed.

 

He had me sit down while he went to the other side, crawled in, and wrapped his arms around my middle. He pulled me to him and had us lie down. Before he could get situated, I turned over and curled into him. He put his arm over me and pulled me closer to him and lightly, soothingly, ran his fingers up and down my back.

 

After a moment, I tilted my head up and kissed him on the lips. His hand stilled on my back as he responded to my kiss, though he did not try to deepen it. I finally pulled away and put my head against his chest and closed my eyes.

 

Though it was morning, we lay in bed all day, him only holding me.

 

Eventually, I drifted off, lulled into merciful sleep by the powerful and comforting sound of his heartbeat in my ears.


	22. Part I - Chapter 22

Stjarnavetr

It was about a week later.

I had been correct in my assumption that Loki wished to remain in London. After all, it was a big city and there was much to see. Besides, we had no schedule to follow, so there was no rush to leave.

But I did not mind it. I found that I did not mind much anymore.

No longer did I pull away from Loki when he tried to show affection to me. When he embraced me, I embraced him back, and when he kissed me, I returned the kiss. When we walked outside, we would hold hands or link arms. He was very gentle with me and tried his best to make me laugh. At night, we would practice seidr and when we were done, Loki would enfold me in his arms and we would fall asleep together.

Everything seemed perfectly alright now, despite how worried I had been to tell Loki what had happened to me in Vanaheim, and I was surprised at how good it felt for him to know. Now he knew why I had always pulled away from him, why I had always denied him, and he had not looked at me with disgust or pity—that had been everything to me.

The morning after, when I had awoken in Loki’s arms, him holding me so tightly, I had not felt uncomfortable in the least. When he had roused, I had kissed him on the lips and thanked him.

For now, the heaviness of this burden seemed gone, or at least greatly reduced. Though I knew I would not so easily forget—no, would never forget—I could no longer allow myself to be a slave to the memories, to those dreadful remembrances. And now that it was known, I told Loki that I no longer wished to speak of Valdrlund or what had happened to me in those days preceding my arrival in Asgard. I was determined to move past it all and he acquiesced easily enough to my request, much to my relief.

Loki did venture so far as to inquire about my past in Vanaheim before Valdrlund, but I did not close up and demand to change the subject, as I always had before. I told Loki now of my mother, Vifóvitr, who had died, and my father, who I missed terribly. I described to Loki where I had lived before going to the royal palace and how I used to spend my childhood. He never seemed to grow bored with my stories and would encourage me to keep speaking, since I had always been so reluctant to speak of Vanaheim before.

I could not remember the last time I had been so happy.

__

It was our ninth night in London and Loki and I sat on the bed across from each other, practicing seidr.

He had been able to conjure a seidr blade after much practice and now was working on enlarging the blade. So far, he had failed to extend and sustain the energy, though he was making progress.

We had been sitting in silence for a while, he focusing on his hand and I watching his face, before I decided to vocalize something that had been nagging at me for the past few days now.

“Loki?”

“Hmm?”

“When are we leaving?”

“London?” he said absentmindedly, without looking up at me. “Soon, probably.”

“No, I mean Midgard.”

He glanced up at me and the green blade shimmered and faded from his hand. “You want to leave?”

I faltered. “Well, not at this moment. I was simply curious if you had decided when we should go back. You said we would be here a few months and it has been that, about, has it not?”

“Yes.”

“So… have you decided?”

“No. I’ve not actually thought about it. Are you really so anxious to leave?”

“I am not anxious to leave,” I retorted. “It is only…”

“What?”

“I miss Asgard.”

Loki smirked at that.

“I miss my bed—”

Loki feigned offense. “What, do you not like sleeping with me, Stjarna?”

I ignored him and finished my statement. “And I miss my bath.”

“Your bath? We went to the baths yesterday.”

“Yes, but it’s different. I still smell like sweat. And dirt. And so do you.”

Loki only chuckled. He obviously did not care if he smelled.

“I wish I had some of those oils for my hair that you gave me in Asgard,” I said mournfully, picking at a loose thread on my dress.

Loki replied, “Well, regardless, I think you smell good all the time.”

I rolled my eyes, but could not hide a little smile.

Loki looked pensive and then grinned. “Alright, Stjarna. How about this? When we go back to Asgard—” he leaned forward, putting his hands between us on the bed “—I will get you an entire chest full of new scents and oils and smelly things for your chambers so you never have to smell like—” I smiled when he planted a light kiss on my forehead “—sweat—” and then on my nose “—or dirt—” and then finally on my lips “—or Midgard again.”

I only laughed in response, amused at his proposal.

Loki smiled at me, his eyes slowly falling down to my mouth. There was a quiet moment where he did nothing—only stared—before he closed his eyes, leaned forward, and pressed his lips to mine.

Though I was startled, I did not pull away. When Loki felt me relax into the kiss, he deepened it, pushing my head back. He ran his tongue through my mouth, almost leisurely, over the roof and my teeth and around my tongue. I responded to him just as eagerly, raising my hands to cup his face.

I felt his hand on my side, then, going to wrap around my back to pull me forward into him. He shifted his position on the bed and knelt in front of me, never taking his lips from mine as he moved. He began pushing into me, the kiss intensifying, and just as he went to straddle me, I put my hand on his chest and turned my head.

Even as I stopped him and the words left my mouth, I wondered why, for I did not feel panicked or apprehensive in the slightest.

“Loki… perhaps… perhaps we ought to go to bed,” I murmured.

Loki’s face fell slightly and it looked as if he were about to say something, but he closed his mouth and leaned back without a word.

We got off the bed, pulled the blanket back, and crawled back in. Loki left his tunic on, and I my dress, for tonight it was too chilly for even him to go shirtless, but lying together as we had been recently doing kept us both very warm, especially with both of our cloaks draped over the blanket.

After Loki had extinguished the candle with a wave of his hand, he wrapped his arm around me, despite my having rejected him only moments ago, and kissed me on the back of my shoulder.

“We will return to Asgard soon,” he whispered.

I squeezed his hand to let him know that I had heard him.

As we lay there in silence and I stared ahead into the darkness, I suddenly regretted that I had stopped him. I do not know what had come over me—perhaps habit at always having prevented him from going too far. But now I thought, with some sense of disappointment, that I should have let him go on. I do not think I would have minded.

But I closed my eyes and instead held Loki’s arm tighter to me, grateful at least for this closeness.

__

My sleep was restless that night. 

Though the room was dark when I awoke, in the faint moonlight that managed to penetrate the slats of the shutters, I could make out Loki’s sleeping form lying next to me. He was on his back, head inclined towards me.

I tried to go back to sleep, but was unable, and so lay awake, thinking—mostly of Loki.

My thoughts drifted back to a week ago when he had lain on top of me and opened my dress and had his mouth on my breasts and his fingers between my legs. I had tried not to think of that too much this past week—how close we had come. And it would have happened, too, if it had not been for my panic.

And then I wondered why was I trying not to think of it? I had liked it all well enough, before the fear took over.

I turned onto my side, careful not to jostle Loki awake with my movements, and stared at him in the darkness of the room.

How incredibly grateful I was to him for how he had been to me these past days—or really, these past months. At one time, I probably would have thought him incapable of such affection, but he knew of my past now and even after everything, even in knowing that I once had carried a child—Valdrlund’s child, no less—he still wanted me. Even in knowing how ruined I was, he was still here.

I lightly ran my fingertips down Loki’s arm, feeling some sense of sadness.

I did not want to be afraid of my past anymore. I did not want Vanaheim and Valdrlund to control me any longer.

I did not want to kiss Loki, or have him kiss me, and I be unable to think of anything but blood. I wanted us to kiss and touch and for it to be just that. I thought of all the things he had said to me that night downstairs, when he had me pinned to that chair, all of the things he admitted to having imagined about us, not so different from the things I had envisioned before.

How desperately I wanted to feel that again. Or, at least a semblance of whatever Valdrlund and I had done in Vanaheim. I knew it was supposed to be a revered joining and I wanted that with Loki. To be held and kissed by another, but more so than what we did when we went to bed, and to be let known that everything is alright and everything is still good.

And in staring at him, I realized suddenly that I did not want to go another day—another night—without kissing him and touching him, without knowing the feel of him.

I wanted Loki more than I would have thought possible and I would not have my past keep me from this—from him.

Not anymore.

Vanaheim, Valdrlund, was behind me and Loki ahead.

Without giving it much more thought, I leaned over and lightly pressed my lips to his. I pulled back, my heart already pounding in my ears, but he did not stir.

And then, before I could think any further on it—oh, but I did not wish to think anymore, only to feel—I rolled over and pushed the blanket and our cloaks away and down the bed.

I sat up, holding my breath, and gingerly draped my leg over Loki’s waist. I slid over and onto him until I was straddling his hips, my dress pushed up and pooled around my upper legs. I bent down, took his face in my hands, and just as he roused and opened his eyes, kissed him on the mouth.

I could feel his surprise in the way he did not immediately respond to me.

I pulled away and in the dimness of the room could see him blink, though I could not tell if it was in drowsiness or confusion at me sitting on top of him.

Loki propped himself up on his elbows and said, “Stjarna, wha—”

But I leaned down again and cut him off with another heady, almost desperate kiss. I ran my tongue through his open mouth, clutched his face to mine as if I would never again have the chance to taste him like this. He responded this time, much to my delight, and lifted up off the bed to meet my kiss.

When I broke away and sat up, breathing hard, Loki did not say anything. He merely looked up at me before dropping back onto the bed. His expression was one of bewilderment, as well as disbelief.

“Is this a dream?” he murmured, furrowing his brows.

The thought of that was so absurd that, even in my nervousness, I laughed. He had told me that night downstairs that he had dreamed of us before. Did he think he was dreaming now?

Feeling a bit daring, I put my hands on either side of him on the bed and rolled my hips; his eyes widened and he let out a little breath.

“No,” I whispered, looking down at him. “This isn’t a dream.”

I felt his hands on my legs, then, slowly traveling upwards, pushing my dress up, until he grasped my bare hips.

I sat back up, my breaths coming faster and my heart racing in my chest. I reached up and began to slowly untie the laces on the front of my dress. I successfully managed to still my trembling fingers as Loki watched me silently, lips parted slightly. I could already feel him half-aroused between my spread legs, pressing into my aching center through his pants. The feeling of him against me like this did not make me feel uneasy, though, but rather excited.

Once the laces were untied, and the front of my dress hanging open, I began pulling at the little ties on the front of my shift to open the collar up. Right before I reached down to pull my dress up, something took a hold of me and I flicked my wrist and the candle on the little table across the room burst to life, illuminating the small space in a faint but warm glow.

Now Loki and I were not merely shadows to one another.

I kept my eyes trained on his, nearly a lucent green in the candlelight, as I rose up on my knees above his hips and fisted the fabric of my dress and the shift beneath in my hands. I slowly pulled the dress up, relishing the look on Loki’s face, noting how he dug his nails into my hips as the dress rose higher and more of my skin was uncovered. Soon it was over my head and my naked body was bared to him.

The cool air felt shocking on my flushed skin, which immediately began to dot in gooseflesh. I could not tell whether I was burning in embarrassment at finally being so entirely exposed to him like this, even of my own volition, or excitement. Perhaps it was a bit of both, I thought, when I saw how hungrily, how adoringly, he was looking at me.

I let my dress fall to the floor next to the bed and followed his eyes, somewhat in worry, as they roved over me, taking in my naked body for the first time. His eyes lingered on my breasts and then my belly and my hips, his gaze caressing every curve and contour, every inch, every bit of heated flesh.

I tentatively put my hands over his on my hips and moved them up and over my body, feeling a heady rush of both exhilaration and nervousness. Pleasure coursed through me as I guided his hands and let his fingertips lightly graze my skin. His fingers lingered over my breasts and he brushed his thumbs across my nipples, causing them to harden even further in the cool air.

Suddenly, Loki sat up and I let out a little breath when he wrapped one arm around my back and pulled me tighter to him. He grabbed one of my hands, brought it up to his face, and unfurled my fingers. He closed his eyes and proceeded to kiss my fingertips before gently pressing his lips to my open palm, and then down farther until he was skimming his nose along my wrist and my arm until he came to the inside of my elbow.

He slowly opened his eyes and looked up at me before reaching to drape both of my arms over his shoulders. He dipped his head and kissed the space between my breasts before taking one of my nipples into his warm mouth. I closed my eyes, tightened my arms around his neck, and rested my head against his as he sucked on me; it felt even better a second time, I thought. He moved his head and did the same to my other breast, reverently running his lips over my skin.

When Loki finally broke away, he peppered light kisses over my chest and then across my collarbones and up under my jaw. I let my head fall back, skin tingling from his attentions, as he skimmed his nose along the column of my throat and flitted his tongue out to wet my skin.

I tangled my fingers in his hair as he kissed me, thinking on how wonderful this all felt, this veneration of my body. I hardly remembered ever feeling this with Valdrlund—he had never kissed me like this.

Loki raised his face and I looked down at him and we kissed openmouthed, our tongues touching briefly before I pulled away and pressed my forehead to his.

I said, almost uncertainly, “Loki, I want… I want to touch you.”

“Then touch me,” he murmured, turning his head to kiss the side of my neck.

I felt a thrill at his words and, feeling emboldened, brought my hands down and slipped my fingers under the hem of his tunic. Loki continued to lethargically kiss my neck and shoulder as I slowly ran my hands, fingers splayed, up under his shirt and over the taut muscles of his flat stomach. Up, until I felt the light smattering of hair on his hard chest.

I had never touched Loki before, save for that one morning when he had guided my hand to the spot between his legs. But this was not like that.

I let my hands fall down again, my fingertips dipping into the hollows of his ribs, down until I was at his waist again. I curled my fingers under his tunic and began lifting it up. Loki leaned back and raised his arms silently, eyes locked on mine, as I pulled his shirt over his head. I dropped it onto the floor next to the bed and allowed my eyes to rove hungrily over his lean torso.

Of course, I had seen Loki shirtless more times than I could count, and even naked, but never in this light, never in this most amatory setting. Never with the intent…

My eyes flickered back up to his. He was staring at me with a small smile on his face now, leaning back and supporting himself with his arms straight out behind him.

I leaned forward, pressing my breasts against his chest, and kissed him on the mouth. Loki responded eagerly, reaching up with one hand to tangle his fingers in my hair. I moved my face down and kissed his chin and then his jaw. He closed his eyes and lifted his head as I ran my lips down over the column of his exposed throat and the hollow between his collarbones, as he had done to me.

I put my hand on his chest and gave him a little push.

Loki, acquiescing to my silent request, went to lie back on the bed. He hooked his hands around the backs of my bent knees and stroked the fabric of my stockings with his thumbs.

He watched me with interest as I traced his collarbones and the planes of his chest with my fingertips. Down farther I let my hand roam until I spread my fingers on his hard stomach, which rose and fell with each breath. I could feel his heartbeat even here. Slowly, I trailed a finger through the sparse, dark hair below his navel, peeking out of the top of his pants.

I felt slightly odd touching him like this—just touching. This in itself felt more intimate than anything else, if that was possible, my simply exploring his body. But I had never done this, though certainly I had thought of it enough. I wanted to kiss and touch every part of him that had yearned for me and that I had denied these past years, every part of him that my past had kept me from.

I bent down and pressed my lips to his chest. He was so warm and he smelled slightly musky and of dried sweat, but I breathed it in, kissed his skin almost in adulation. I dragged myself down his body and, with some amusement, felt him involuntarily lift his hips. I smiled as I kissed his stomach and felt his breath hitch as I drew closer to the spot between his legs.

His arousal was pressing hard into my abdomen, which sent a nervous thrill coursing through me. Though I had done this many times with Valdrlund, I felt apprehensive. Perhaps because now it was with Loki, whom I very much wished to please.

I lifted up, grasped the laces of his pants in my fingers, and began pulling at them. I had them untied relatively quickly and right as I began to slip my fingers under the fabric, feeling a terrible excitement in the pit of my stomach, Loki reached down and grabbed my hands, stilling them.

I looked up at him, somewhat confused. I wondered if I had done something wrong. Valdrlund had always liked it when I touched him like this.

“Stjarna, you do not… you do not have to do this,” Loki said quietly, holding my fingers tightly in his.

I could very easily tell just by the tremble in his voice, the look in his eyes, that he wanted nothing more than for me to continue, but he had seen me break down, seen what this kind of intimacy did to me, and his regard for me made me nearly want to cry.

“No, I want to,” I answered desperately. “I want this, Loki.”

I was suddenly seized by the irrational fear that if I did not do this now, if we did not do this now, we would never again have the chance and I could not bear that.

Loki held my hands and stared up at me for a long moment before sitting up and whispering, “Lie back, Stjarna.”

He wrapped his arm around my back and went to move forward and reposition me on the bed. He shifted until I was supine beneath him, head at the end of the bed, and he kneeling between my legs.

“Loki,” I breathed, when he leaned down and engulfed my mouth with his. It was a deep kiss, as if we had not been kissing before, as if we would never again have the opportunity.

Moving to kiss my cheek and jaw now, Loki took my arms and lifted them up to drape them over his neck. I rose up and pressed against him, my breasts flat against his chest, savoring the wonderful feeling of our bare skin touching and moving against each other.

And in just holding Loki like this, with every kiss and every gentle brush of his lips across my skin, I could feel those years of anger, of bitterness and misery, seemingly melt away. My unhappiness in Vanaheim, the shackles that bound me to the sorrow of that place, fading mercifully into the recesses of my mind. At least for now—for this moment.

I felt the tears gathering behind my eyes. Loki kissed the tip of my nose and my forehead and my eyelids, catching the wetness of my tears on his lips. His kisses were so delicate and tender, so loving and affectionate. I opened my mouth for him and our tongues met briefly before he pulled back to move down my body.

As he kissed my breasts, he moved one of his hands down to my hip and the other he supported himself above me with. He moved down, keeping his lips to my skin, until he pressed his forehead to the gentle curve of my belly and kissed it, moving to lightly stroke his thumb across the soft skin, to caress the spot above my womb. Pleasant, tingling sensations raced upwards from where he touched me.

My entire body was humming with desire. I could feel the moisture building between my legs, feel the ache of my longing intensified every time Loki moved against me, and I smiled to myself for the fact that there was no ball of dread sitting heavily in my stomach, no prickling of fear or anxiety in the back of my mind.

Loki sat up on his knees, then, and grabbed one of my legs. He lifted it up and began to slowly peel my stocking off. He pressed his cheek and lips to the newly exposed skin, eyes closed, and kissed the side of my calf and the inside of my knee, caressing it with his lips and fingers. He finally pulled my stocking off and let it fall to the floor before he turned his attention to my other leg.

I closed my eyes and sighed contentedly, never having felt so loved or so venerated.

Loki continued to kiss the inside of my leg even after he had pulled my other stocking off, bending forward and making his way down, until his lips were on my inner thigh. He shifted so he was lying on his stomach and his head was between my legs.

It was now, at last, when I felt my stomach tighten in apprehension, but I swallowed hard and tried instead to think of how good all of this felt, how I did not want it to end. I gripped the bed beneath me, muscles tense, as Loki lifted my leg and propped it on his shoulder and across his back and wrapped his arm under and around my other leg. He turned his face to kiss the inside of my thigh, fingers kneading the skin, and then I felt him lick me there with the flat of his tongue, felt him bare his teeth and nip at the soft flesh, so close to the most intimate part of me.

I was already breathing hard, filled now with trepidation, and he had not even done anything yet. His face was so close to me that I was sure he could hear my heart beating between my thighs.

And then I felt him brush his lips against the hair at the top of my legs. He skimmed his nose through the curls, lower and lower until I could feel his breath warm on my skin.

My heart sped up and, almost unsurely, I whispered, “Loki.”

I moved my hand down to touch his just as I felt him press his lips to me. It sent a sudden sliver of shock through my body and I shuddered and gasped when he opened his mouth and I felt his tongue against me, moving in languid little circles around the nub at the top of my sex.

I whimpered at the sensation and let my head fall back, mouth hanging open. I rolled my head to the side, eyes squeezed shut, and grabbed Loki’s hand. He curled his fingers with mine, his tongue never ceasing its languorous movements between my legs.

Every roll of his tongue was slow and sensual, every scrape of his teeth and caress of his lips overwhelmingly arousing. He alternated between sucking on my bud and moving his tongue through my folds, causing a tight coiling to begin building in the pit of my stomach.

I brought my leg up—the one not lying on his back—and opened myself shamelessly to him now, caring nothing but for the feeling of his face between my legs. He pulled himself up on the bed, still holding onto the tops of my thighs, and pressed his face closer into me.

I felt as if I were floating. I dug my fingers into the bed beneath me with my free hand to steady myself, moaning as each indolent and luscious movement of his tongue sent a jolt of pleasure through my body. My stomach rose and fell faster with my breaths, my insides clenching. Oh, gods, I had forgotten this pleasure.

Valdrlund had used his tongue on me before—rarely—but it had not, could not, have ever felt like this. But it had never been about me, anyway—it had always been about him. “Touch me here, Stjarnavetr, do your mouth like this…” and then he would be spent and I would lie there next to him, his own lusts slaked and mine left to fend for themselves. I could say, in truth, I had probably brought myself to culmination more times than he ever did, in that century as his mistress.

But this...

Loki moved his head down and slowly dipped his tongue inside of me. I exhaled sharply and squeezed his hand again, bending my leg on his back to press his head closer to me. I gave a little moan of frustration, burning for release from this deliciously unfamiliar sensation; I attempted to twist my body to the side, hardly able to lie still, but he held tight to my thighs, disallowing me movement.

I began to pant and tried to move my hips as he worked his tongue deeper, pressing his face into me as if he had never tasted anything so sweet in his life.

Abruptly, Loki extracted his tongue from my burning core and I heard him suck on his lips. I let out a heavy breath for this brief respite, but arched off the bed and whimpered when he lowered his head and licked hard up the entirety of my sex with the flat of his tongue.

And then he moved his free hand from my thigh and I could feel his fingertips grazing lightly across my entrance, teasing, but never entering.

The heat boiling in my lower belly was growing stronger, the muscles in my abdomen tightening with each lingering brush of his fingers. I would have attempted to squirm on the bed, but he would only have held me down.

Suddenly, he gently slid his first finger into me, all the way up to his knuckle, just as he closed his lips over my erect nub. My entire body went rigid at the intrusion and I instinctively tried to squeeze my legs together. I gasped his name, more in worry than lust, and the fear came back then, that I was still too ruined. He would not be able to bring me to peak, I would not be able to do it.

But Loki did not stop. He continued slowly licking and sucking at me, held my hand tightly, until I hesitantly relaxed. I let my head fall back and expulsed a heavy breath when he slipped another finger inside me and began to slowly draw them in and out.

I let out a breathy moan, overwhelmed at the incredible sensation of his tongue on me and his fingers inside me.

I could feel it coming, then, this hot pressure in my belly so close to bursting.

But it did not burst, no matter how much I begged it to. It felt as if it was just out of reach. Every time I felt myself trembling on the edge, it was as if I backed away, too afraid to let it take me. Loki did not stop, though; he kept going on and on as if he could not feel me stiffening and panting in irritation, as if I was not on the verge of tears.

I wanted it so badly and it was here and yet I could not grab it.

But then Loki curled his fingers upwards and all of a sudden it was as if every nerve in my body was set alight, if it had not already been before. I had never felt anything like it. My breaths were coming rapidly now and I squeezed his fingers, never having let go this whole time, finding it extraordinarily difficult not to writhe on the bed.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” I managed in between pants, beseeching him, over and over, to not stop, please, please don’t stop…

And then, suddenly, the tight coiling in the pit of my stomach came undone, whether I had let it happen or not.

My entire body went rigid and in complete silence, mouth wide open and eyes squeezed shut, did I endure the hot waves that rolled through my quaking body, causing me to arch up off the bed. Somewhere, far away, I heard Loki groan from between my legs and still he did not stop; he kept moving his fingers inside me, kept rolling his tongue through my folds and sucking on the nub at the top of my sex, sending rivulets of nearly inexpressible pleasure coursing through me. The waves came again, hotter than before, harder, and I cried out, gasping loudly and curling my toes.

When the pulses at last began to subside, I gradually relaxed back onto the bed, still panting. I eventually stopped shaking and took a deep, shuddering breath, relishing the now dying waves of my climax still echoing around in my lower half.

I let my head fall to the side, eyes still closed, and laughed.

I could not help it. I was so happy, so fantastically grateful that I could still experience this, that I could still be pulled over that edge. They had not been able to take this away from me.

Loki sat up and pulled his fingers out of me. He slowly crawled up my limp body, now covered in a fine sheen of sweat. I looked up at him, almost sleepily, as he settled onto me once again, pressing me down into the bed.

The air was heavy with the scent of my arousal and in the flickering candlelight I could see the slickness of my desire coating his nose, lips, and entire chin. I took his face in my hands and kissed him deeply, tasting myself and letting my tongue rove through his open mouth. He eagerly kissed me back and when he pulled away, he grinned at me and wiped his face off with the back of his hand.

“Did you like that?” he asked softly, face inches from mine.

I laughed again, quietly, hardly knowing what to say. I could not think of the words to possibly describe my elation. I do not think I had ever experienced such pleasure—and he had not even taken his pants off yet. I curled my toes in gleeful anticipation.

“Yes,” I whispered. It was all I could say. I smiled widely, barely able to contain myself.

“I am glad,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to mine.

We stayed like that for a long moment, our breaths coming slower.

Seized by a sudden desire to touch him—properly, this time—I reached down and between our bodies, running my open palm over his chest and down his stomach until I came to the top of his pants. I trailed my fingers a little farther down until I could feel the swell of his arousal, straining hard against the fabric.

Loki watched my face as I lifted up off the bed, pressing my front against his, and used both of my hands to try to push his pants down over his hips. It was somewhat difficult, what with his erection, and the position we were in. He smiled as I tugged at his pants and pressed his lips to my cheek, breath ruffling my hair. 

“Would you like some help, darling?” he murmured.

“No,” I said breathlessly, finally managing to push his pants down, freeing him. I could feel him now, hard and hot against my inner thigh. I was supremely relieved that all I felt was an exhilarating nervousness and not panic or fear. And then something seemed to take a hold of me and impulsively I wrapped my fingers around him.

Loki let out a heavy breath into my mouth, I think somewhat surprised by my action, and made a sound in the back of his throat that I had never heard him make before. His eyes fluttered closed and his arms went taut as I stroked him between us, feeling how amazingly aroused he was for me. I could not tear my eyes away from his face; his mouth was half-open, head bowed down above me, and hair hanging lankly.

There was something so incredibly intimate, something so incredibly arousing, at bringing him to this—having him unable to speak because of me. It filled me with some sense of power and seemed to quell my nervousness.

Loki lowered his head and kissed me as I began slowly stroking him. He groaned my name into my mouth and slightly pushed his hips forward, as if encouraging me. I released him and let my fingers wander farther down, but before I could get very far Loki suddenly opened his eyes, pulled back, and grabbed my hand between us.

“No, don’t do that,” he said breathlessly, voice low and rough-sounding.

“Why not?” I breathed, as he brought my hand out from between us.

“I’ll not be able to hold myself much longer if you do that,” he answered with a small grin, moving backwards and off of me to pull his pants down. He kicked them off his feet and they fell to the floor.

I let out a small laugh and went to wrap my arms around his neck as he crawled back over me and settled onto my body. As he softly kissed my lips, I raised my legs and wrapped them around his narrow waist, pressing myself closer to him.

“Loki,” I whispered against his lips, putting my hands on the sides of his head. I twined my fingers in his hair and kissed him. “I’m alright, Loki, I’m ready…”

He let out a breath against my mouth, but otherwise did not move. He put his forehead to mine.

“Loki,” I said again, urging him on.

He kissed me again, deeply, while he reached between us to guide himself to my entrance. I could not help but to tense up when I felt him there, despite my supposed resolve.

He paused for a moment to place a reassuring kiss on my parted lips just before he pushed into me.

As he slid into me, a groan escaping his lips, I arched beneath him and rolled my head back, body taut, expecting at any moment to feel some sort of discomfort or pain—but there was none. And he kept coming and coming and then he stopped, fully buried inside me and hips flush with my inner thighs. I could feel him throbbing inside me and my own heartbeat around him.

Loki planted a light, lingering kiss on the column of my throat. He reached up to stroke the stray hairs off of my damp face, encouraging me to relax. I did so, slowly, and shifted slightly beneath him, trying to accommodate his length inside me. I let a moment pass, overwhelmed at this wonderful sense of fullness. I quietly panted, excitement coursing through me at having him deep inside my body for the first time.

When Loki remained immobile above me, supporting himself on his forearms, I lowered my head to look at him, trying not to breathe so hard.

“Is all well?” he murmured, voice low. He was not bothering to control his heavy breathing like I was; I could tell he was holding back—I could feel the faint shuddering of his body. His eyes were wide, his pupils huge, and I could barely discern the green of his eyes.

But instead of forming a coherent sentence, I only laughed.

Oh, gods, that I had rejected this for so long…

I gave a little nod, feeling myself unable to speak. I let my head fall back onto the bed, a tired smile on my lips. Loki slipped his arms under my shoulders and kissed the column of my throat again as he began to slowly roll his hips against me.

I moaned and arched my back slightly as he pulled out of me and then pushed back in all the way until I was filled. And then he began moving against me, slowly at first, the slickness of the sweat on our bodies easing our movements.

I tightened my legs on his waist and pressed him closer to me, encouraging him to come deeper into me. I wanted every part of his body touching mine and, as I kissed him openmouthed, I let my hands roam over his back, feeling the lean muscles there tightening and relaxing as he moved above me with long, leisurely strokes that began to gradually, deliciously, increase the mounting pressure between my legs.

Loki rose up on his arms and looked down at me, our faces only inches apart. He gave a little thrust of his hips and I gasped his name, digging my fingers into his back. He grinned at my reaction and began moving again, harder this time, faster. I moaned at the feeling and closed my eyes.

There were no words between us now.

Every breath drawn was pure ecstasy, every movement and every loud heartbeat complete bliss.

And all the while, his name rolled off of my tongue, over and over and over, whispered and moaned and cried out like some sort of desperate and heated prayer. I did not even bother to think on how thin these walls were, what might the other guests think if they could hear us, but I did not care, I did not care—all I could feel, all I cared about was Loki inside me, his lips and hands on me, hear him whispering my name into my skin as if it was the most beautiful word. I did not care then even if Heimdall could see or hear us as we moved against one another, the slick sounds of our joined bodies punctuating the silent and still air, fitting against one another so perfectly, as we sought this promise of heated, sweet relief.

And I could feel it building, this tight coiling in the pit of my stomach, ready to burst. I knew it was for Loki, too, just by the expression on his face. I pulled him down to me and kissed him fervently, pushing my tongue past his lips. He groaned into my mouth, briefly slowing in his pace so he could kiss me, but never stopping; he rubbed his pelvis against my sex as we kissed, causing me to nearly twist beneath him.

Loki broke the kiss and his rhythm increased. No longer was it languid and sensual, but harder, faster, deeper—impassioned. This building up, this culmination of hunger that had plagued the both of us for so long now finally given release.

It was as if Loki could no longer hold back; he lifted up and began driving harder into me, using his entire body now instead of just his hips. He was losing control and the very thought of that, that I had brought him to this, excited me to no end. I had seen him lose control before, but only when he was drunk. This was entirely different, entirely more intimate. Seeing his eyes closed so tightly, mouth open and breaths coming hard and fast with each thrust, head bowed down almost in concentration.

Seeing him like that seemed to drive me towards my own impending release. I tilted my head back, panting loudly every time the flat of his hips hit the inside of my thighs. I dug my nails hard into his back, could feel it coming, could feel the ball sitting in the pit of my stomach ready to split open, and I was anticipating and begging and crying out, anything to get me there, anything to have Loki get me there. And he kept moving and I was gasping and struggling for breath, lifting up, trying to reach higher and higher, willing myself to let go already and tumble over that precipice.

And then, it all came to a crashing halt.

That deliciously unbearable tightness in my lower half burst open, sending wave after wave of heat surging through my body. I froze beneath Loki, paralyzed in my ecstasy, and he clutched my unbending body tighter to him and captured my mouth with his as I whimpered and gasped and cried out for the ineffable pleasure of it all.

My entire body was racked with these euphoric, unremitting pulses of ecstasy; Loki paused in his movements to roll his hips on me, groaning at the feeling of my insides coming around him, and I made a sound that resembled a low whine as I arched up into him, mouth wide open and eyes squeezed shut so tightly that I saw stars. My mind was blank and there was a vibrating cloud seeping into every corner of my consciousness, blocking everything out except for the reverberations in my lower half and the feeling of Loki still moving inside me, and I was still tumbling and rolling, falling and rising, riding these incessant and searing waves of pleasure.

It seemed, then, that there was nothing else in the world. There was no Midgard, no Asgard, no Vanaheim—nothing else existed outside of this little room in that moment. It was just Loki and I on this bed, the only two people to exist, and the only sounds to be heard were our sighs and gasps and our bodies moving together, the dying flame of the candle the only light to be had.

And he kept moving, kept moving, and I was nearly crying his name as I trembled in his arms.

Above me, Loki’s rhythm became erratic and he abruptly stopped moving, keeping his hips pressed flush to mine. I felt his body go rigid as he came deep inside me, heard him groan as the tremors of his release shook his body. We hovered there together in this mutual pleasure, our lips touching but not kissing, breaths having all but ceased.

And then the warm pulses, almost too much before in our fervor, now mercifully died away, leaving behind a sense of heated completeness and contentment. Loki’s entire body went slack and he let his head drop onto my shoulder, panting and attempting to catch his breath. I slowly relaxed, allowing my body to soften in Loki’s arms, and smiled to myself when I felt him plant a little kiss on the top of my shoulder.

And as I lay there beneath Loki, all I could think of was how everything I had ever known was a lie, for I had never known this kind of pleasure. I had come with Valdrlund before, more often only to the brink than actually tumbling over it, but it had never been like this. I realized now that what I had known with Valdrlund was a charade, merely a ghost of what intimacy was. I assumed now that this was what it was supposed to be—I could not imagine it being anything else but this. 

I rolled my head to the right and pressed my cheek against the side of Loki’s head, feeling his hair, damp with sweat, against my skin. After a moment, he turned his head and placed a light kiss on the side of my mouth. I could taste the salt of my sweat on his lips and I smiled. He smiled tiredly back at me and pressed his forehead to mine. We lay like that for a long moment, eyes closed and breaths coming slower. Loki pushed his nose against mine and I let out a little laugh.

When he went to pull out of me, though, I tightened my legs on his waist and said, “No!”

Loki hesitated and then lowered himself back onto me. “Stjarna—”

“Just stay… please stay,” I whispered, pressing my face into his shoulder. “Just a little longer.”

Though Loki was soft inside me, I suppose it was merely the idea of us still being joined. I did not want this to end. Not yet. I was not ready to let it go. And so Loki lay there on top of me, nuzzling his nose into the side of my neck and kissing my skin, allowing me this.

After a few minutes, I reluctantly let my hands fall from Loki’s back, slick with perspiration, and my legs from his waist. He moved to kiss me gently, opening my mouth with his. It was a tender kiss, though deep. He pulled away, breathless, and then lifted up to pull out of me. I whimpered at the almost painful feeling of loss.

Loki rolled onto his back and exhaled. We both stared up at the ceiling for a long moment, silent and unmoving, before he sat up and reached down to grab the blanket and our cloaks, which had fallen off the bed during our coupling and onto the floor.

He spread them out and pulled them up over us before reaching for me, wrapping his arm around my back, and dragging me towards him. He extended his arm so I could rest my head on it, since we were upside down on the bed and the pillows beneath our feet. He draped his other arm over me and I buried my face into his chest, tucking my arms between us and moving my legs to tangle with his.

Loki lightly brushed my hair back from my face, kissed the top of my head, and moved his hand down to twine our fingers together between us.

Even as I drifted off into sleep, I wanted to think on it all. I wanted to question my impulsivity and berate myself, possibly question the consequences of what had just occurred, but I could not bear to. Not now. Not with us lying together like this, not with the heady scents of our arousals still lingering in the chilly air and the heat of our union not yet cooled.

And so I fell easily into sleep, wrapped in his arms and contented with the thought that for now, for this moment, all was well.


	23. Part I - Chapter 23

Stjarnavetr

It was mid-morning when I awoke.

Dust motes floated lazily through the air, the slanting rays of winter sunlight coming in through the slats of the shutters illuminating their lethargic dance. I watched them with only a mild interest, silent and unmoving and wrapped contentedly in Loki’s arms.

I had my fingers twined with his, held against my chest, and I could not stop smiling to myself as I lightly stroked the back of his hand with my thumb.

I could not remember the last time I had been so at peace. I thought it odd, almost, and perhaps a bit amusing, that what I had feared most these past years was now what brought me the most comfort. But I could not deny the joy I felt in my heart.

I loved the feeling of him simply lying next to me, the feel of his bare body pressed so closely against mine. Lying here in this little room, on this little bed, it was easy to imagine that we could remain like this forever, that I could be happy like this for always.

But I knew that, inevitably, we would have to return to Asgard. We could not stay here much longer.

It was then, with some concern, that I wondered what would happen when we went back, where it would no longer be just the two of us, moving silently and facelessly through this world. We would not be together constantly like we were now—not that I necessarily wished that. Loki could be very irritating sometimes, but we had our separate duties. He had his lessons and other princely obligations, while I was but a handmaiden to the queen and merely his seidr tutor.

But was I still merely that?

And now, suddenly, it was not with fondness or happiness that I thought of what had passed between Loki and I the night before, as much as I might have wanted to, but doubt and worry.

What would Loki expect of me, now that I had finally given myself to him? Surely he would expect me to lie with him, to spread my legs for him any time he wished it. Oh, but how could he not assume that now? He had finally succeeded in obtaining that which he had been pursuing for so long, even if I was the one who had initiated it.

For a brief moment, I allowed myself to wonder if I would mind becoming his mistress, but that thought was quickly dismissed when I remembered how Loki was. He was not the type to keep a woman for very long—not like Thor, who would keep a woman for years.

I did think that Loki cared for me, but I did not think it possible to undo nearly five centuries of habit—of moving from woman to woman as he was wont to do—in just a few months. And even if I did consent to becoming his mistress, how long would it last, truly? I knew I would eventually be brushed aside, as all mistresses were eventually done away with. He would no longer look at me with such adoration in his gaze, my being the sweetmeat that now, after so long, he had finally taken a bite of.

Oh, but it was so much more than that. We had shared each other’s bodies, experienced this revered joining together—but now that he knew of my past and knew my body, I felt as if he held some sort of sway over me, just like Valdrlund had. The thought of that almost frightened me. I did not think I could bear to give myself like that to another person. So wholly. Not like I had to Valdrlund. I could not let that happen again.

And yet, I had been so happy the night before, lying in his arms. But now, I almost felt ill. I had lain with him, despite all of my reservations, all that I had warned myself against. There had been a reason that I had held out so long against him, other than the fact that I had believed myself ruined. I knew I had done it because of the way he had been to me these past months. How different he had seemed, how bent he had been on making me happy.

I had wanted him for so long and it had all been more than I could have imagined. For me, at least. I was sure Loki had had much better than me, but I had given myself to him in a moment of recklessness and what almost now seemed stupidity. Oh, but had it been recklessness? Had it been stupidity? I remembered that I had done quite a bit of thinking the night before, just staring at him, speculating and wanting to touch him and taste him. But I had shared with him a very dark and very intimate part of my past and in doing so had exposed myself and made myself vulnerable.

I know I should have felt elation at the fact that I had finally given myself to him, opened myself up to another so completely and so trustingly, after I had longed for it and for him for so long, but I felt nothing now but regret and embarrassment that we had known each other so intimately. Now every time that we spoke or even looked at one another, I would be unable to not remember the way we were the night before.

And much to my sorrow, I did not trust Loki to remain like this and to keep up this façade, even after all he had done for me and how reverentially he had treated me. One did not change so completely in such a short amount of time, I knew.

I stopped stroking Loki’s hand and closed my eyes, hating that I had to question everything, hating that I was unable to quell these racing thoughts. I could not stand that I was doing this—I did not want to, but could not help it. I had been hurt too many times before not to do it and I knew I would be hurt again. I suppose I thought that I had to protect myself.

I opened my eyes, wishing desperately that I did not feel so horrible and so saddened, but I realized now, with some sense of unhappiness, that perhaps I ought not to have lain with him. I should not have kissed him, should not have gotten on top of him. It had been wonderful, oh, more wonderful than anything I had ever experienced, but I could not condone it. It had all just been a terrible lapse in judgment.

There was no need to keep this up, then. No need to keep playing at this.

I decided that it best if we returned to Asgard. Today. I did not think I could bear to spend even a few more days here with him alone. Not after what had transpired last night, not with these poisonous thoughts having hardened my resolve.

But I did not push Loki off of me. I lay there for another half hour, perhaps trying to talk myself out of this, telling myself it would not be so bad to be his mistress, for however long he decided to keep me. I tried to imagine us dining in his chambers, my sleeping in his bed, and us walking through the palace or the grounds, arm in arm. But thinking of that just made me think of Valdrlund, much to my regret, and I kept telling myself that Loki was not Valdrlund, but I still could not justify it, no matter how many ways I thought of it.

Too soon, Loki awoke.

He had one arm wrapped around my middle beneath the blanket and one leg pushed up between mine. I could feel his warm breaths on my neck and his heartbeat against my back, so closely was he pressed against me. As he roused, he tightened his arm on me, pulling me closer to him until there was not a hair’s breadth between our bodies.

“Loki,” I murmured.

Upon realizing that I was awake, Loki immediately lifted up and splayed his hand on my belly. He pulled at me until I turned over and was on my back. He lifted up and hovered over me, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Hello,” he said softly, bending his elbows to kiss me on the mouth.

I hesitantly responded to the kiss, but he did not seem to notice my reluctance. He moved his head down to lavish attention to the side of my neck.

“Do you want to go out today?” he asked, dragging his lips up to tickle the spot beneath my ear with his tongue.

“No,” I answered quietly, staring up at the ceiling. I was trying to, at the last moment, convince myself that I could live with myself as his mistress, that I would be content until the time when he would no longer have need of me. But I could not do it.

I felt him smile against my skin. “Mmm, I do not either…”

His kissing became more insistent and I turned my head and put my hands on his chest. I whispered, feeling an uneasy tightness in the pit of my stomach, “I want to go back.”

Loki, feeling my hesitance and how I was keeping him from settling onto my body, paused and looked at me. His expression was one of puzzlement.

“You want to go back? To Asgard?”

“Yes.”

I silently begged him to not say no.

“When?”

“Today,” I replied, my voice smaller.

He looked even more bewildered. “What for?”

“I just… want to go back.”

Loki furrowed his brows and then, as if unsure, he moved away. As soon as I was free from the confines of his arms, I hurriedly sat up and turned away from him to sit on the edge of the bed. I bent over, grabbed my dress and shift up off the floor from where I had dropped them the night before, and quickly pulled them on to cover my nakedness. I stood and laced them up, my fingers trembling. I could not tell if it was from my nervousness or the cold.

I did not turn around to look at Loki. I could feel his stare and was afraid to even look.

“Stjarna?” I could not discern the feeling of his voice.

I bit my lip and slowly turned around. He was still sitting on the bed, the blanket and our cloaks wrapped around his waist. I felt a wave of embarrassment roll through me, remembering how he had touched me and had his face between my legs and been inside me.

“I want to go back,” I repeated, my voice threatening to crack.

Loki stared at me for a moment before looking away and turning to slip off the bed. Just as he threw the blanket and our cloaks off of him, I turned back around and made my way to the little table. I sat down and averted my eyes as he dressed, picking at my fingers. When I finally looked up, he was just pulling his doublet on.

I felt so incredibly stupid not being able to even look at him now without feeling humiliation. Why had I not felt like this the night before, when I had climbed on top of him and touched him?

“We’ll need to leave the city,” he said vacantly, wrapping his belt around his waist.

I nodded, relieved that he was consenting to my wanting to return to Asgard so easily. I stood up and went to collect my things. After I had gathered my belt and bags and wrapped my cloak around me, I went to leave with Loki following closely behind me.

But as soon as I had opened the door, Loki’s hand shot out and he nearly slammed it shut from behind me. I started right before he grabbed my shoulder, spun me around, and pushed me flat against the door. I stared up into his face, lips parted in surprise.

“Is something wrong?” he asked coolly, holding my gaze.

I swallowed hard. There were only inches between us.

“I—I just want to go back, is all,” I said weakly.

He looked incredulous. “I’m not ignorant, Stjarna. Have I done something wrong?”

“No,” I admitted. The problem was that he had done everything right. This was me. It was my fault that I was feeling like this, that I could not resign myself to becoming that which I had been in Vanaheim—my fault that I was ruining everything.

“Obviously I have done something displeasing,” he remarked, voice low.

“No,” I repeated softly. “I just want to go back. You said we were going back—”

“Not today,” he snapped. When I flinched, his expression softened and he gave a little shake of his head. “Stjarna, what have I done?” 

When I did not reply, he inquired gently, “Did I hurt you?”

I shook my head, sinking deeper and deeper into this feeling of miserable guilt. “No.”

Oh, it would have been better if he had. Then I would at least have a viable excuse for doing this, after all he had done for me. It would have been better for the both of us if he had not enfolded me into his arms afterwards and kissed me so lovingly, and if he had not awoken this morning and the first thing he had done was to pull me closer and kiss me. He had done everything right, made it all more than I could have ever imagined making love could be, and I felt awful for having done this, but I could not bear to lower myself again—not like with Valdrlund.

I swallowed again, filled with dismay. My voice trembled. “Loki, we cannot… we cannot do this again.”

He only looked at me. And then, “You mean lie together?”

I was barely able to nod.

Loki stared at me for a long time. I could not read his expression, but I was unable to tear my eyes away from his.

“Is this a game, Stjarna?”

I gazed up at him, hearing the barely disguised anger in his voice. I nervously twisted the fabric of my dress in my hands and, feeling sick, managed to say, “No.”

“Then would you tell me what this is?”

I did not understand, but did not want to ask him what he meant. I felt as if I was going to burst into tears at any moment.

When I did not answer, he leaned towards me and raised his eyebrows, obviously still expecting an answer.

But all I gave was a nearly imperceptible shake of my head.

Suddenly, Loki lost all semblance of equanimity.

“I do not understand,” he hissed, putting vicious emphasis on the last word, and leaning in towards me even further, lips pulled back to expose the points of his teeth. “You deny me, Stjarna, for over two fucking years. You tease me and you torment me and then you give yourself to me and now you act as if you do not even want me touching you—”

Abruptly, he stopped speaking and closed his eyes, as if fighting for composure.

When I stammered his name, he opened his eyes. He looked absolutely irate.

I opened my mouth to speak, wanting to tell him, wanting to explain to him, but my mind was blank in that moment as I stared into his livid face.

“Loki,” I stuttered, “it—it is not that—it is—it is—”

But I could not find the right words and he did not give me enough time to find them.

“Oh, enough of this!” Loki said furiously when I continued to falter. He put his hand on his forehead and raked his fingers through his hair, exhaling sharply as he turned away from me. “For fuck’s sake, Stjarna—”

But I did not hear the rest of his heated exclamation.

I turned around, opened the door, and slammed it shut behind me. As I went down the stairs, fighting back the tears, I heard a crashing sound from our room, as if Loki had kicked the table over and into the wall.

Once in the main room of the inn, I stood by the wall, wringing my hands beneath my cloak and trying to swallow my tears. It would not be good to cry in front of the other guests, some of which I tried to watch to distract myself, but I could hardly focus on them for the dread I felt.

Perhaps ten minutes later, Loki came down the stairs. He passed by me without a word and went to leave. I assumed we were headed out of the city and followed him silently.

I pulled my cloak tighter around me when we stepped outside, blinking against the cold breeze.

Loki immediately began walking, weaving easily through the people and making his way towards the city gates. After all, we could not have Heimdall pick us up in the middle of a crowded street.

I tried to keep up with him, for he was walking rather quickly and with such long strides, but I did not think it such a good idea to speak with him when he was like this. And so I struggled along behind him as best I could, berating myself all the while for doing this.

Perhaps an hour or so later, we were outside the city, a little ways from the road and standing near the edge of a barren field.

Loki had not uttered one word to me the entire time we had been walking and I was shivering violently and on the verge of tears. I did not know how I could make him understand what I was feeling, all of these doubts rolling around inside my head, but I did not think he would bother to hear me out, anyway—at least not at the moment.

And so I stood behind him, watching him.

He was standing still, looking up.

The grey clouds lay low and heavy in the sky, threatening snow, and the wind, now that we were out in the open, was biting. I was exceedingly uncomfortable, but I dared not ask Loki if he would hurry up and ask Heimdall to open Bifröst to us.

Then, Loki turned his head to look at me. I could not read his expression.

“Are you ready?” he asked impassively.

I gave a little nod and went to stand by him. I looked down at the frozen ground and held tightly to my things. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Loki stare at me for a moment longer before slowly raising his head again.

“Heimdall,” he shouted.

Within moments, there was the faint sound of thunder and then brightness all around.

__

Just as when we had first arrived on Midgard, I stumbled and fell, but unlike last time Loki did not move to catch me or help me up. I slowly climbed to my feet, trying to blink back the dizziness. Once I felt in control of my faculties, I looked up.

Heimdall, clad in his gold armor, gazed stoically down at us from his pedestal.

“Your Highness, Lady Stjarnavetr,” he said in that deep, resounding voice. “Welcome back.”

Loki did not even acknowledge Heimdall’s greeting, which I thought a bit rude.

“Where is the Allfather?” he demanded. “And the queen?”

“Gladsheim, Your Highness. They have been informed of your return.”

That was quick, I thought.

I realized that Heimdall must have been watching us on Midgard this morning. How else would he have known we were coming back? After all, he had sent a messenger to inform the king and queen that their son was returning and it had only been a few hours, at most.

And then, with some sense of horror, I wondered if Heimdall had seen Loki and me the night before. I remember I had thought that I did not care if he could see us, but now with him staring down at us, that seemed rather stupid. The very thought that Heimdall might have seen us like that mortified me.

Loki must have been thinking the same thing because I noticed he did not look at Heimdall at all as we passed by, but despite my worries, I gave the gatekeeper a half-hearted little smile, as if apologizing for Loki’s discourtesy. Heimdall, always a gentleman, returned the smile and bowed his head to me.

Once outside on the bridge, I saw that it was nearly nighttime here in Asgard.

I heard a whinnying and looked over to see Loki grabbing the reins of a horse. Two of them stood there, near the entrance of Heimdall’s large, circular building. They had been brought out to the edge of Bifröst so we would not have to walk the entire way back.

I mounted the second horse and followed Loki, who had not bothered to wait for me.

As we went, I caught up to Loki and asked if he was going to see the king and queen.

“Yes.”

“Should I come, as well?”

I was not sure why they would want to see me, being just a handmaiden, but it did not hurt to ask. I thought perhaps the queen might wish to see me. After all, she was the one who had coerced me into finally agreeing to go.

“No,” Loki said shortly, keeping his eyes ahead.

We were silent the rest of the way.

Once we had reached the stables, dismounted, and the horses were contained by the stable hands, Loki immediately began walking away, presumably to Gladsheim where his parents and no doubt Thor waited.

But, unable to bear this any longer, I went to stop him.

Maybe if I explained to him that I did not think myself ready to become his mistress, as I had been Valdrlund’s, he would realize my uncertainties and he would forgive me for what I had done earlier. I would tell him that I had simply been terribly unsure of everything after all that had passed between us. Perhaps I would just need a little more time—everything had been so sudden.

I hoped he would understand. I did not want him to be angry with me.

“Loki,” I said, trying to catch up to him.

When I took his arm, he came to an abrupt stop and I nearly ran into him. He turned on me, looking annoyed. He held his arm out and away from him as if he did not want me touching him.

But I did not care, I only needed to tell him. I was not at a loss for words now as I had been on Midgard.

“Loki,” I said despondently, putting my other hand on his arm. “I am sorry, please let me—”

But before I could get another word out, Loki looked down, pried my fingers off of his arm, turned around, and walked away without a backwards glance.

I felt as if I had been slapped.

I stared after his retreating form, lips parted in surprise.

When he turned the corner and disappeared from sight, I looked down at the ground, tears springing to my eyes. I hardly knew what to think.

After a few moments, when I had collected myself, I slowly began making my way towards my chambers.

Once there, I opened the door and entered, looking around through this veil of tears and feeling some sense of relief at the familiar and welcoming setting. I shut the door behind me and, not a second later, burst into tears. And even while I cried to myself, I unceremoniously dropped all of my things onto the floor and stripped, leaving a trail of dirty clothes in my wake as I went to my bath chamber.

I ran a bath and slipped easily into the hot water. I lay there for at least half an hour, still softly crying, before I got around to washing my hair—twice. I then proceeded to scrub myself raw until I was sure I had gotten every speck of Midgard out of the creases of my skin, until I was sure I had scoured every trace of Loki from my body.

I emerged from my bath chamber feeling a little better.

I did not bother to dry myself, or even slip into a nightgown, before I fell gratefully into my bed. I instantly soaked the sheets, but I did not care. I only wanted to close my eyes and sleep despite the fact I had only woken up a few hours ago.

And so I lay awake for the longest time, ruminating on the day’s events.

I started crying again when I thought of how Loki had pushed my hands away and turned from me without so much as a word. How he had looked at me, almost with disgust. How he had made me feel so small and so unwanted.

But then, had I not essentially done the same thing to him just this morning when he had been kissing me? 

I curled up into myself under the covers, wondering if it had been a mistake to lie with him. Perhaps we should have continued on as we had been doing.

I thought that my first night back in my own bed would have been more joyous, for I had so missed it these past months. But now I was crying myself to sleep in it.


	24. Part I - Chapter 24

Stjarnavetr

Early the next morning I went to see the queen. I arrived at her chambers perhaps half an hour before the other handmaidens were slated to arrive.

She was delighted to see me, though expressed confusion as to why I had not come to see her the day before, when Loki and I had arrived back in Asgard. I only said that I had been very tired and wished to rest.

“That is why I have come this morning, Your Majesty,” I told her, “to inquire if I might have this day to myself, as well.”

“Of course, Stjarnavetr,” she said kindly. “Loki also requested to abstain from his lessons for a few days.”

At the mention of Loki’s name, I suddenly felt very nervous.

I wondered if Queen Frigga knew that I had lain with her son. She obviously had some way of knowing when Loki lay with her handmaidens or the palace staff. Could she tell it on me? And then I wondered, briefly, if I would be sent away like all the others. But I doubted it. Loki had even told me that his mother intended for this to happen, though she had not anticipated my extreme indecisiveness, I am sure.

“You may go if you wish to rest more,” the queen said, smiling at me, “Surely the other ladies will not leave you alone once you come back. They have been very eager to hear all about Midgard. I must admit, Stjarnavetr, I am also looking forward to hearing of it.”

I laughed quietly at that. I thanked the queen for her leniency, left her chambers, and proceeded to the kitchens to obtain breakfast. I returned to my rooms and quickly finished all of the food, thankful that it was not bread and cheese and ale.

Afterwards, I sat on my bed and combed through all of the things I had brought back from Midgard.

In our travels, I had obtained a myriad of mostly useless little objects. Loki had, more than once, compared me to Hirdakyn when I had insisted on picking up a torn shoe or something similar, but I had collected these items specifically for Hirdakyn. I had thought it would be a nice surprise for him once we returned.

As I sorted through the objects, I plucked out a bracelet.

I stared at it, recalling when Loki had gotten it for me in a market in the land called France. I had been looking at a little cart covered in jewelry, all very poorly wrought and made of much shoddier materials than those we had here in Asgard, and had seen a bracelet I liked, though it was not made of gold or silver or inlaid with precious stones. I remembered Loki had immediately bought it for me, despite my protests.

I got off my bed and put the bracelet with my other jewelry, a poor little selection. Nearly all of the jewelry that I owned were gifts from Loki. He had given them to me over the years, presenting them to me in little ornate boxes when I would come to his rooms for seidr.

They were all I had, as I had not been able to bring anything personal from Vanaheim. Everything I had owned had been left behind and probably immediately discarded following my exile.

In fact, nothing in my chambers was originally mine. Even all of the clothes in my wardrobe had been commissioned for me by the queen upon my becoming her handmaiden.

I closed the lid of my jewelry box and went back to my bed. I finished sorting the rest of my little souvenirs, putting most of them back into the bag to take to Hirdakyn later, perhaps in a day or so. I knew he would appreciate something so simple as a shell or broken cup.

But for now, I rested and attempted to keep my mind off of Loki.

The next day, I returned to my duties as a handmaiden.

I was surprised to learn from the other women, after a somewhat emotional and unnecessarily tearful reunion, that Loki had been in the queen’s chambers the day before, inquiring after me, when I had been in my own chambers still resting. But I did not linger long on it. I did not want the others to question it or read any more into it and possibly guess the intimate details.

And so most of the day was spent relating to the other ladies my travels in Midgard. They could not get enough of it. They balked at the idea of communal beds—rightfully so—and were amused at my descriptions of the public bathhouses. Though there were communal baths here in Asgard, they were not so dirty and crowded as the ones on Midgard. Even now, I was still unsure about the practice of communal bathing, since we had not had anything of the kind in Vanaheim.

I related to the handmaidens how Loki had killed four outlaws at once, how they had told him that they would let him live if he gave them all of his money and me. Haegr, always the romantic, nearly swooned, which I thought a bit much, and Málvit smirked at me.

I, of course, left out the part where Loki and I had lain together. Haegr and Málvit certainly would have been delighted for me.

But always, in the back of my mind, as I spoke so highly of Loki and praised him, there was the constantly growing feeling of guilt. I had ruined everything, I thought. I tried to think of it from his stance, how he had been so kind to me, tried to make up for all the wrong he had done me. How I had given myself to him, how good it had been for the both of us, and then how suddenly I had rejected him.

These thoughts plagued me that night, as well as all of the next day. I was feeling rather miserable as I made my way to my chambers that night, my third night back in Asgard. I was looking forward to my bed so I could fall into sleep and not think on all of this.

I entered my chambers, shut the door, turned around, and saw sitting in the middle of my floor a very large chest. It was tall, nearly reaching my waist, and about four feet across. There was a thickly folded piece of paper on top.

I went forward and grabbed the paper, which was closed and sealed with red wax. I broke the seal and unfolded it. I could not help but to smile to myself when I saw just the one line of spindly, graceful, and obnoxiously large handwriting.

So you never have to smell of dirt or sweat or Midgard again.

No signature.

I bent down and flipped the latches of the chest and opened it.

I was surprised to see row upon row of vials and bottles stacked on top of one another and all varying in both size and color. They were set up in little racks and color coordinated. None of the bottles were terribly large, though one would last me for a month at least, and none were the same color, not one red the same shade or green the same hue.

I am sure the royal perfumer had had fun with Loki’s order, and on such short notice.

I set Loki’s letter aside and picked one of the bottles at random, a dark red one. I took the little stopper out and smelled it. It was a very heady, very sweet scent. I put the bottle back, feeling even guiltier now.

I had, these past days, wondered to myself if I should go and see Loki. I wanted to tell him my fears, but I dreaded his reaction. I was afraid that he would be upset with me, or worse, refuse to even hear me. He had been so angry before and so I had decided, ultimately, that it was best if we did not see each other at least until forced to.

Our seidr lessons were meant to begin again in about a week, after Loki had settled back into his routine. I was anxious about seeing him again, though I could not deny that some part of me missed him.

I stared down at the bottles, wondering what I should do. I briefly questioned if I should go and see him, for he had come looking for me already. He obviously wished to speak with me and now he had fulfilled his promise to get me a chest of scents and oils. I thought he had been joking.

I was torn on what to do.

Part of me was beyond thrilled that Loki should do this for me, but a part of me dreaded its implication.

One did not gift something like this without expecting something in return. Or, that is how I knew it to be, anyway.

Valdrlund had given me many things in my time as his mistress—dresses, jewelry, tokens. That was why I had always been so hesitant to accept Loki’s gifts, even if they were merely baubles or scents for my skin. Though I had taken them grudgingly, it had reminded me too much of Valdrlund.

But now this…

I picked the letter back up and traced his handwriting with my fingertips.

I closed my eyes, feeling terribly conflicted and still unsure of how best to deal with Loki.

I decided I would take a bath and go to bed and decide it all at a later time.

Before I got into my bath that night, I could not help but to comb through the chest, searching for an oil I liked. I found one quickly. It was dark green and was strong and sweet. I used it in my hair and was surprised at how potent it was.

Loki had been right. I certainly did not smell of Midgard anymore, if there had been any lingering scent of it—or him—upon my skin.

__

The next day, I requested to leave the Queen Frigga’s chambers early. I told her that I wished to visit with Hirdakyn and she allowed me to leave, for she knew Hirdakyn very well.

I stopped by my chambers to get the bag full of Midgardian objects and proceeded to the archives.

Once there, I entered and began walking aimlessly through, knowing I would soon stumble upon the little man sooner or later.

“Hirdakyn?” I called, just as I turned the corner of a towering bookcase.

I stopped suddenly.

Sitting at a table were Hirdakyn and Loki.

Both of them were looking at me, for I had shouted Hirdakyn’s name not a moment earlier.

“Lady Stjarnavetr!” Hirdakyn exclaimed jovially. Both he and Loki stood up at the same time. Hirdakyn came to embrace me, but Loki stayed where he was and only looked at me.

I tore my eyes away from Loki, embraced Hirdakyn, and held the bag out to him. “Hirdakyn, I’ve brought you some things from Midgard.”

Hirdakyn gazed lovingly at the bag. “Oh, for me? My lady, you are too kind. Please, let me see!”

We went to the table and I spread the items out. I glanced up at Loki, who had not taken his eyes off of me, while Hirdakyn sorted through the objects, clucking to himself and giving the occasional excited gasp. Many of the items were terribly boring, but Hirdakyn pored over them intently, transfixed by even the most basic little thing.

Tentatively, I said to Loki, “What are you doing here?”

Loki raised his eyebrows. “I thought Hirdakyn might like to hear of our travels.”

I only gave a small nod and looked back down at the archivist, who was now studying a little white shell that I had plucked off of the beach in France.

After a few more minutes, Hirdakyn dropped all of the objects back into the bag and declared that he must sort them immediately. He rose up on his tiptoes, kissed me on the cheek in thanks, and then scampered away, leaving Loki and I alone.

“Come sit,” Loki requested, slowly lowering himself into his chair. “I’ve not seen you in days.”

Hesitantly, I took the seat across from him.

“Did you receive my gift?”

“Yes.”

“Did you like it?”

“Yes.”

Silence.

I was playing with my fingers below the table and he was still staring at me. I looked up at him, deciding that now was as good a time as ever.

I said softly, “Loki… I am sorry.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Sorry?”

“Yes, for what happened on Midgard. For how I… acted… afterwards. I should not have done that.”

He nodded once. I assumed that was him accepting my apology.

And then, when he did not speak, I ventured, “Are you not going to say anything?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are… are you not going to also apologize?”

Much to my surprise, and chagrin, Loki snorted. “Apologize? Why would I apologize?”

I stared at him for a long moment, wondering if he was joking, but then I could see he was not. He acted as if my expecting an apology in return was absurd.

I angrily stood up, causing the chair to scrape loudly on the floor. Loki looked up at me in surprise.

“Why would you apologize?” I asked, aghast. “I—I tried to speak with you, Loki! I wanted to tell you, I needed to tell you, but you—you would not hear me. You walked away!”

He merely stared at me before slowly rising to his feet. I could tell he was annoyed—his tone was scathing. “I am sure, Stjarna, you can understand why I was upset. Have you already forgotten how you treated me after we lay together?”

A hot flush spread through my body when he said it. It was almost surreal to hear the words spoken aloud, that we had been together in that way.

My voice was smaller now. I almost felt chastised. “I have not forgotten. I said I was sorry, and I am, but I did try to tell you—”

“Yes, well, you were a bit late for that, weren’t you?” he snapped.

And then I was angry again, that he should be so obstinate. 

“You—you are despicable, Loki!” I retorted, almost childishly, but I could not think of anything else to say, anything else to let him know of my displeasure with him.

With that, I turned on my heel and began walking away. I would come to see Hirdakyn another time. I could not stand to be in here with Loki another minute or I feared I might start screaming all of my frustrations at him.

But I had not gotten far when, from behind, Loki wrapped an arm around my middle and hauled me backwards.

“Loki!” I shrieked in alarm as my feet left the ground; I clutched at his arm as he quickly turned me around. I found myself suddenly pressed up against one of the heavy tables, my lower half pinned to the edge by Loki’s hips. He was leaning against me, caging me in with his hands on either side of me on the table.

“You’re right, Stjarna,” he said roughly, turning his head to kiss the side of my neck. Even as I felt his tongue on my skin, felt the scrape of his teeth on the side of my throat, he murmured, “I am despicable and dissolute and immoral but I…” now his voice was not so dark, but tinged with what almost sounded like desperation “…I have so missed you these past days.”

And then he took my face in his hands and kissed me on the lips.

I stiffened, frozen in this uncertainty for only a moment, but despite everything I absolutely hated about him, everything I could not stand, I had missed him and I still wanted him and all of my reservations, all of my worries, were gone from my head in that moment.

I brought my hands up and curled my fingers in his hair, pushing back against him and returning the vehemence of his kiss. Loki tore his lips away from mine and I lifted my head as he began fervidly kissing my jaw and beneath it, moving down to pepper kisses on my neck and across my collarbones, until he went back up to nip at my earlobe.

And then I felt his hands below my buttocks, lifting me up until I was seated on the table. Loki pushed my legs apart and stood between them, his lips never having left my skin. He grabbed a handful of my dress and began pulling it up over my legs, but I did not stop him and within moments my skirts were bunched up around my waist.

“What about Hirdakyn?” I barely managed when I felt his fingers there between my legs, massaging the soft flesh of my inner thigh.

“What about him?” he breathed, pressing his lips to mine just as he moved his hand. I let out a heavy breath and wrapped my legs around his as he slowly trailed his fingers through my folds, spreading the quickly accumulating wetness around. He teased my nub, circling and pressing against it with his thumb, causing me to whimper and lean forward into him.

And then my eyes fluttered closed and my lips parted as he lowered his hand and easily slid two of his fingers into me. I held onto him and quietly moaned as he began drawing his fingers in and out, simultaneously pressing against that little bundle of nerves at the top of my sex with the heel of his hand.

Loki pressed his face into my neck and I was barely able to discern, through this haze, his voice. “Mmm, you smell delightful, Stjarna, not at all like Midgard…”

I only gave a hard, breathy sigh in response. I dug my nails into his upper arms, feeling this pressure building in between my legs, this tight quivering in my lower belly. I felt him smile against me when I attempted to move my hips on the table, urging him to go faster or deeper, I did not care, just anything to get me there faster.

It had only been a few days since we had touched each other, but it felt like a lifetime. I did not realize how terribly I had missed his touch, how terribly I had missed him pressed against my body.

Loki wrapped his other arm around my back, pulling my front flush to his, as I brought my hands up and tangled my fingers in his hair. I started to pant, unable to focus on anything but the feeling of his fingers sliding so easily in and out of me.

I let my head fall back as he began kissing my neck, nipping at it with his teeth, using his tongue to wet the skin, and he never broke his rhythm, never ceased the slick movement of his fingers, the grinding of the heel of his hand on my bud.

I began to pant louder, fast approaching my release.

And then I heard a sound faraway and, almost lazily, I turned my head and opened my eyes.

Hirdakyn stood there, eyes wide and hands clapped over his mouth.

It was as if my insides turned to water.

I gasped loudly and reached between us to grab Loki’s wrist. Loki heard my gasp, felt my nails digging into his wrist, and lifted his head up from where he had been sucking and licking and nipping at my skin, and saw Hirdakyn.

“Please forgive me!” Hirdakyn cried, covering his eyes and turning on his heel. He ran straight into a bookcase, but quickly collected himself and scurried from sight.

I was staring at where he had just been standing, mouth hanging open in horror. My entire body was burning no longer with desire, but with mortification. I turned my head to look at Loki and was startled to see him grinning from ear to ear. And then he buried his face in between my neck and shoulder and laughed.

I stared ahead, shocked into silence.

I went to push him away, demand to know what was so funny, but then he started moving his fingers again, even with my holding his wrist. He curled them up inside me as he licked the side of my neck and I nearly went rigid on the table. I closed my eyes and rolled my head back, Hirdakyn’s unexpected appearance no longer such a concern.

Oh, I could not push him away now, could not bear to end it—I was so close, had already been so close.

He kept curling his fingers inside me, kept drawing them in and out of me, and I was panting his name and I could feel it, my insides trembling, on the verge. I leaned forward into Loki and moaned, anticipating my release.

But then, suddenly, I was empty.

Loki pulled his fingers out of me and my eyes flew open and I immediately cried out. I was still holding his wrist, but he pulled his hand away from me.

“Loki,” I breathed in confusion. My entire body was on fire, having just been pulled back from the brink. “Loki—”

“I want to feel you coming around me,” he said, voice rough, as he reached under a small flap of leather on his outfit. I saw him hurriedly untying the laces of his pants.

My stomach seemed to leap into my throat. “Not here, not here!” I exclaimed, grabbing his hands. “Hirdakyn—!”

“He’s gone now,” Loki interrupted, not even looking up at me.

“No!” I said again, forcing his hands to still.

He looked up at me, lips parted and breaths coming faster. “Where then, Stjarna?”

I stared into his eyes, clouded over with desire. My mind was completely blank. I did not say anything, only held his hands tightly.

And then, the first thing that came to my mind: “Your—your chambers are close by.”

Loki gazed at me for a moment, almost unbelievingly. And then a licentious smile slowly spread across his face.

It was then that I knew I was lost.

Loki had won.

He immediately let go of the laces of his pants, grabbed my hand, and nearly yanked me off the table in his haste.

His chambers were indeed close by—we were there in minutes.

I suppose I should have been at least a little ashamed of how easily I fell into it all again, but I could not be bothered in that moment to feel anything but desire. I was only concerned with having him inside me again, could only anticipate his hard body moving against mine.

As soon as the door was slammed shut behind us, Loki turned on me, pushed me up against the door, and kissed me openmouthed. I deepened the kiss, reaching up at the same time to push his surcoat off of his shoulders. He quickly shrugged out of it and went to work on my dress. My own hands roved uselessly over his body, for I did not know how to undress him in the slightest. Last time he had only worn a tunic and pants. Now he wore all of this leather and metal with too many folds and too many hidden laces.

When I gave a little groan of frustration, Loki pulled away, breathless, and began to hastily undress himself. I finished with the laces on my dress and then pulled it over my head, followed by my shift. I went to pull my shoes and stockings off, but had only gotten my shoes and one stocking off before Loki was completely divested of clothing, amazingly, and leaning down to lift me up into his arms.

Loki carried me into his bedchamber and nearly tossed me onto his bed before crawling in after me. I spread my legs shamelessly for him and he settled in between them before leaning down to kiss the space between my breasts, licking up and over my chest to the side of my neck with the flat of his tongue.

“Loki,” I said breathlessly, reaching down to guide his hips, urging him to come into me.

He obliged me easily enough and let me position him, a lascivious grin plastered across his face.

There was no uncertainty, no hesitation this time—Loki pushed inside of me quickly, burying himself to the hilt. I arched up off the bed with a loud gasp for the sudden sensation of him filling me and already he was moving above me, already losing himself in me.

I brought my legs up and squeezed them on his hips, raised my arms and dug my nails into his back.

It was not as before, where every movement had been languid and deliberate.

Our coupling was passionate and frantic, every thrust and every movement hard and starved. There were only the sounds of our bodies, flesh against flesh, our gasping and groaning and my loud panting every time he buried himself in me, over and over. He rode me hard, not like before, nothing like before—it overwhelmed all of my senses, seemed to drive all coherent thoughts from my mind, but I could not get him close enough, could not get enough of it.

I was already so close to it, could feel it in my lower belly ready to split open, and I rose up and raked my nails down his back, heard him groan. I sank my teeth into his shoulder to stifle my scream as the hot coiling in the pit of my stomach finally, mercifully, came undone.

And Loki kept driving into me, harder and harder, even as my body was being torn apart by these unrelenting waves of pleasure, until at last his rhythm faltered and he came to a sudden and violent stop. He raised his head up, eyes closed and mouth open in a silent groan. He pressed his hips against mine, holding himself there, as he came inside me. He slowly thrust into me a few more times to empty himself as I fought to regain my breath.

I let my hands fall from his back, let my legs drop back onto the bed. My entire body felt lifeless and drained, save for that wonderful, still-lingering heat in my lower half.

Loki let out a tremendous breath, which soon dissolved into heavy panting. He gradually let his head drop and I could see the faint shuddering of his arms as he held himself above me. Then, ever so slowly, he opened his eyes and gazed down at me.

He said breathlessly, “Did you bite me?”

I gave a little nod.

He bent his elbows and settled his body onto mine. He kissed my cheek and murmured, “Mmm, I like it when you bite me.”

I burst into laughter. I could not help it. I brought my arms up and wrapped them around the back of his neck and kissed him, even as I laughed. He smiled and went to roll off of me, pulling me with him so I was lying against his side, my head resting on the front of his shoulder and my arm tucked beneath his.

I put my hand on his stomach and he lifted his arm, the one I was nearly lying on, and brushed the hair back from my face. He stroked my cheek with the backs of his fingers, occasionally letting them drift over my brow.

I closed my eyes and sighed contentedly.

We lay in silence for a long while, but I did not mind it. I liked it.

And then Loki asked quietly, as he played with a lock of my hair, “Stjarna?”

I raised my eyebrows, though I kept my eyes closed. “Hmm?”

“Would you stay with me?”

Slowly, I opened my eyes, though I did not look up at him. “Stay?”

“Yes. I can have our supper brought to my chambers. We can eat in here tonight.”

When I did not reply, Loki brought his hand up under my chin and lifted my head up so he could see my face. “Would that please you, Stjarna?”

“Yes, but…”

I knew that if I were to stay with him tonight, that would be it—I would be his mistress. It could hardly be considered anything else, for surely we would lie together again, but I did not want to tell him I was afraid of being his mistress. I could not imagine how that would go over with us lying here like this, having just lain together for the second time.

I could end this now, as well, though I am sure Loki would be very disappointed. I knew I would be. I would never again lie with him—I would not allow myself to if I left him now—and things would always be different between us. I would always think, and he probably, as well, what could have been, if I had not rejected him this one final time.

But what I wanted and what I needed to do were two very different things.

And then I thought that nothing seemed to ever work out, anyway. I had tried too hard to control everything these past years, after what had been done to me in Vanaheim. I had always been too afraid to simply let go and it seemed I was nearly always unhappy. I remembered how happy I had been on Midgard in Loki’s arms, like I was now, before I had tried to once again control everything for my fear.

I took Loki’s hand and curled my fingers with his, slowly realizing now that what I feared more than becoming his mistress, what I feared more than staying here with him and finalizing it all, was not staying. Could I bear to get up now and leave him here? Could I bear to walk out that door, knowing everything I was leaving behind for good?

“Stjarna?” he asked quietly, when I remained silent.

I did not hesitate for a moment longer.

I looked up at him.

“Yes.”

He looked momentarily surprised, as if he had not expected me to stay.

“You will stay with me tonight?”

“Yes,” I repeated, giving a little nod.

And when I saw his burgeoning smile, I could not help but to also smile. With him looking at me like this, so happily, I wondered how I could have ever doubted this not being the right thing to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a one shot that takes place in between chapters 24 and 25. You can read it here:
> 
> AO3: archiveofourown.org/works/4947913  
> Tumblr: renlem.tumblr.com/post/130643556766/stjarnavetr-one-shot-second-night
> 
> After you read this one shot, you may continue on to chapter 25.


	25. Part I - Chapter 25

Loki

My first thought upon waking the next morning was that none of it had happened.

I’d not brought Stjarna to panting my name on that table in the archives and we’d not come back to my rooms and she’d not stayed with me. It had been another dream or simply my imaginings. Gods know that I had done that before.

I quickly turned over and sat up, feeling dread. She would not be there; she had not stayed.

It had all been a dream, just another dream.

But Stjarna was there.

She lay on her stomach, head turned towards me. The covers were pulled down to just above her waist, exposing her pale back. Her lips were slightly parted and her breaths gentle.

I felt relief.

When I had asked her to stay the night with me, I had honestly expected her to say no. She had denied me so many times and after what had happened on Midgard, I was not sure even us lying together for a second time would compel her to stay.

But she had, much to my surprise and immense pleasure, stayed with me all through the night.

I’d had our supper brought to my chambers, but I had not even been able to last through the first course before I was up and tugging her towards my bed. She had, much to my delight, let me lead her easily enough and we had lain together multiple times through the night. It was only when we were both spent and exhausted that we had fallen asleep.

It had been so much better than I had imagined. To feel her again like this, to hold her soft body in my arms and to hear her cry my name out as she came undone. I loved the little sounds she made, those soft and desperate little gasps when I moved inside her or used my tongue or fingers on her.

I was not sure how I had lasted so long on Midgard. How many times did I dream of her beneath me or on top of me, of her moving against me, all while I lay next to her, night after night? Such torturous dreams, to then awaken with her so close to me and I unable to take her as I so badly wanted to, to see her sleeping face when moments ago in my mind I had been bringing her to screaming my name.

And then, that day on Midgard, we had been so close to it. Stjarna had finally forgiven me for what I had done and I had felt such relief and I thought that finally, she would allow me to have her. I had kissed her and pushed her back onto the bed and climbed on top of her and just as I had been about to come into her, she had screamed and started weeping, told me to not even touch her. I begged her to tell me what was wrong, but she refused.

I had gone downstairs that night and drank. I remember having wondered if I could get drunk, but Midgardian alcohol was weak and I could not even get tipsy. However, that had not stopped me from attempting to get drunk. I had even briefly considered making my way back to that brothel and finding and fucking that woman that had been standing outside. After all, Stjarna had been so insistent that I had planned on doing that from the beginning.

But I had quickly dismissed that thought. I had made too much progress with Stjarna to ruin it all on some Midgardian whore. And so I had sat there, eaten up with both frustration and desire, until I decided to go back up to our room. I had sat at the table, not sure if I could be so close to Stjarna lying in the bed yet, and practiced making a seidr blade by candlelight.

It had not been long, then, when I heard Stjarna whispering Valdrlund’s name. I had tried to ignore it, though was unable to not wonder why she kept saying it. And then she had screamed it and bolted upright in the bed and then burst into tears. I had immediately gone to hold her, once again flooded with concern for her.

She had slept in my arms that night and I was resolved to end all of this the next day. I could not take this any longer and I would not allow Stjarna to, either.

The next morning I had managed to coerce it out of her, this thing that had been done to her before she came to Asgard and it had been far worse than anything I could have ever imagined.

She had told me that she had been with Valdrlund’s child in Vanaheim before she came here. More than anything, I had been surprised to know that she had borne a royal bastard. I had wondered if the child was still in Vanaheim, but Stjarna had soon revealed that she had never actually had it.

I remembered sitting there, staring at her in a shocked silence, as she stumbled over her words and struggled to swallow the tears, as she told me that she had been placed into a cell and forced to miscarry his—their—child. She had not lingered long on it and not described it in great detail—only that she had been left in the cell for two days afterwards with all of that.

It was almost unbelievable.

The thought that he—they—had done this to her enraged me. That anybody could do something so heinous to a woman, especially so this soft and beautiful woman. But I had not been able to find the words to console her and I had felt terrible. How was I to comfort her for this? What was there that I could possibly do to assuage her pain? I had swallowed my own rage and pulled her into bed with me and held her. It was all I could do.

And as we had lain there, with Stjarna curled into me and her tears dried on her cheeks, I had felt such shame. I thought of all the times I had been unkind to her, how I had grabbed her and yelled at her and spoken to her. I wondered as to how she had ever found it in herself to forgive me. I certainly would not have.

I had thought it all past, then, and tried my best after that to be gentle with her. She had seemed so much more fragile after that, as if my merely raising my voice to her would cause her to shatter.

There had been only once after that when I had tried to have her, perhaps a week later, but she had once again denied me. I had been disappointed, but did not question her. I did not wish to push her any further than what I had already.

But then later in the night, I had awoken with Stjarna on my hips and coming down to kiss me. I had, at first, thought it a dream, but she had assured me it was not and had proceeded to touch me, to kiss my body and explore it with her fingers. I had loved it, could hardly believe it was really happening.

When she had gone to unlace my pants, I almost did not stop her. How many times had I imagined her mouth on me and my fingers curled in her hair? But I’d stopped her—I could not let her have me before I’d had her—and made sure to lavish praise on every part of her body and to show her the pleasure that could be had. I had nearly come apart just listening to her with my head between her legs, collecting the sweetness of her desire on my tongue and in my mouth, hearing how desperately she said my name, how she gasped and begged me.

And then I had made love to her, though I had barely been able to hold back, for I had so long fantasized of that moment, of having her beneath me and it had taken everything I had not to simply fuck her into the thin mattress. But Stjarna was not those other women, the ones that I did not even bother to learn their names. For Stjarna, I would give all that had been denied to her.

I liked to think that I had been successful for the way she had been clutching me to her and the way she had been crying my name out. I suspected that it had been just as good for me because I had been lusting after her for so long and she had not just been another body. I had no problem admitting to myself that I cared for her and that had seemed to make it all the better.

But it had not lasted.

The next morning when I had kissed Stjarna, she had rejected me—again. I did not understand when she pulled away from me and said she wanted to go back to Asgard. I had thought, briefly, that I might have hurt her the night before. Near the end, I remembered, I had gotten excited, but I did not recall her telling me to stop. She had told me that her insides had been damaged in Vanaheim and I thought perhaps that was it, but she had said no.

She simply said that we could not lie together again.

That was when I had gotten angry, so incredibly angry. I could not believe that she was doing this after all that had just passed between us. I had yelled and cursed at her, hardly able to hold back, furious that after so long, after everything, she should so suddenly deny me again.

But we had come back to Asgard and I did to her as she had done to me. I had not cared if she wished to speak with me. I could not stand to even see her, much less hear her voice. It was probably best that I did not talk with her, as it had taken nearly everything I had not to explode at her.

Afterwards, though, I had felt regret—a most unfamiliar feeling, but one that I had felt much of these past months. The more I thought on it, the worse I felt. I had gone to Mother’s chambers the next day to see Stjarna, but she had been absent. I assumed she was in her own chambers, for Mother said she had requested to have a day to herself, but I had not wished to confront her there. I knew I would see her soon enough, though it was a torturous wait.

And so I had kept myself busy.

I had consulted with Lodinkinni, the royal perfumer, and made good on my promise to Stjarna on Midgard. Perhaps I also felt it to be somewhat of an apology for how I had treated her, though I still felt that my anger was justified.

It was not until I had gone to see Hirdakyn that I saw Stjarna again. I had been relating to the archivist our journey when Stjarna had suddenly appeared. She had looked mortified upon seeing me and I again questioned if I had somehow done something terribly wrong. I had never had a woman act like this around me and it was both infuriating and intriguing.

But none of that mattered now, for she lay here with me in my bed.

I stared down at her, unable to keep myself from smiling. How peaceful she looked. Hardly had I ever seen her so tranquil.

I reached out and ran my fingertips lightly down her spine, wanting to touch her.

Suddenly, Stjarna let out a little breath and murmured my name. She opened her eyes slowly and, for a brief moment, looked confused. Her eyes flickered up to mine and I saw the realization dawn on her face.

“Loki,” she said again.

She turned over and sat up. Her hair—such thick, beautiful hair she had—fell in waves down over her shoulders, covering her breasts. She looked a vision. I could not help but to immediately lean over and press my lips to hers.

She opened her mouth and our tongues met briefly before I pulled away and smiled at her.

“What time is it?” she inquired, noticing the bright light coming in from my balcony.

“I know not,” I replied, unable to tear my eyes away from her face.

“Do you not have training this morning?”

“Yes.”

“Will you not be late?”

“Yes.”

“Do you not care?” she asked quietly, raising her eyebrows.

I laughed, amused that she could be concerned with such things now.

“Not with you in my bed,” I responded with a salacious grin, reaching out to push the covers off of her. I wrapped one arm around her middle and pulled her towards and under me. She laughed quietly and lifted her arms and splayed her hands on my back as I pushed her legs apart and settled between them.

I moved her hair out of the way and lowered my head to kiss her right breast, running my tongue along the side and feeling the bite mark I’d left there the night before. I moved one hand down her body at the same time, feeling the softness of her flesh and the tender muscles beneath. Oh, how I adored her body—loved it already.

I moved back up and kissed her deeply. I am sure she could still taste herself on my tongue and I almost imagined I could still taste myself on hers. I caught her bottom lip between my teeth and gently sucked on it while simultaneously pushing my hips forward to press against her. I could feel how wet she already was for me, which only served to inflame me.

I reached down to guide myself into her and slid all the way in, smiling when Stjarna let out a delighted gasp and closed her eyes. I was still for a moment, relishing the feeling of her insides so tight around me. I started moving leisurely on top of her and watched her face, reveling in those soft, delicious little moans, and felt her curl her fingers on my back each time I pushed all the way into her.

I slowly built both of us up until Stjarna was breathing hard and I could tell that she was close, having become very acquainted with the intimate workings of her body the night before.

I lifted up a little and reached between us and slipped my fingers into her slick folds, feeling the sticky heat where our bodies were joined. She opened her eyes and gasped my name as I began touching her. Her nails bit into the skin of my back and I groaned when she lifted up off the bed and I felt her come, her inner walls caressing me and attempting to pull me deeper into her.

She moaned and twisted beneath me as I kept moving and kept touching her. I leaned down and kissed her neck and licked up the column of her throat when she let her head fall back as her body shook and she came again, urged by my fingers still working against her sensitive little bud.

And now it was coming, my own release, and I gritted my teeth for this nearly agonizing pleasure. I brought my fingers out from between us and shakily settled on my forearms. I started moving faster, unable to help myself, and came not moments later. As I spilled myself inside her, my muscles stiffened and my entire body stilled and for those few moments, I could not have moved if I wanted to. I closed my eyes—I couldn’t keep them open—and groaned, lowering my head and pressing my forehead to Stjarna’s. I barely felt her wrap her legs around my waist and pull me deeper into her, barely felt her press her lips to mine.

After I had emptied myself inside her and felt this warm lull setting in, I slowly relaxed. I tried to keep my full weight off of her, but my body felt so heavy and I could not. But Stjarna did not tell me to get off of her, which I was grateful for. I did not think I could move just yet.

She turned her head to kiss me and whispered, “You are most definitely going to be late for training.”

“I am already late,” I murmured, finding it a bit difficult to speak. “It is no matter.”

I lowered my head and buried my face between her neck and shoulder. Stjarna reached up and began to curl my hair in her fingers.

“Will you not be reprimanded?” she asked, somewhat in worry.

“Yes, but it is alright,” I breathed into her warm skin.

I wished she would stop talking. I just wanted to lie here on her.

“No, it’s not,” Stjarna said solemnly.

I sighed quietly. Sometimes Stjarna could be so terribly serious. I did not like it when she was so severe. She looked much prettier when she smiled, anyway.

“Don’t you want to stay in bed with me?” I whispered, tightening my arms around her so she could not move.

“I must go, too, Loki,” Stjarna replied, “or I shall be late to the queen’s chambers.”

“Just cast an illusion over yourself, Stjarna.”

“And go like this?” she gasped.

“Mmm,” I smiled. I managed to lift myself up and look down at her. “You could go naked.”

“Naked?” Stjarna balked.

I smiled and let my hand wander down and between us. I trailed my fingers up the crease of her inner thigh, where I could feel my seed dried there from the night before and now once again freshly wet.

“Oh, please,” I laughed at her expression. “I have gone about the day naked many times before—”

Stjarna looked horrified, which made me laugh harder.

“—including many mornings when you came for seidr.”

Stjarna said petulantly, “I am not surprised.”

“Are you not?” I asked, leaning down to press my lips to hers.

We kissed briefly before she said against my mouth, “Loki, truly, I must go…”

Reluctantly, I pulled out and away from her and sat back as she slid off the bed. She bent down to retrieve her clothes off the floor where we had dropped them the night before and I watched her dress, taking in as much of her bare body as I could before she covered it up.

Once she was done and prepared to leave, I slipped off the bed, still naked, and went to embrace her.

“Loki,” she said seriously, “I must go. And you must stop stalling. You must get ready, too.”

“What, you cannot even bid me farewell first?” I asked, feigning offense.

Stjarna looked slightly exasperated, but allowed me to kiss her. I wrapped my arms around her and lowered one of my hands until I splayed my fingers on her buttocks. I let my hand curve beneath until my fingers slipped into the crease between her legs.

Stjarna gasped into my mouth and attempted to twist out of my embrace. “Loki!” she nearly squealed and I could not help but to burst into laughter.

I grinned playfully at her and she tried to act indignant, but I could see her attempting to fight back a smile. I held onto her hand as she pulled away and said, much more seriously, “Come to me tonight, Stjarna. After dinner, will you come to me?”

She tilted her head. “I must attend to the queen afterwards—”

“Yes, yes,” I said impatiently, “but after that. Will you come to me?”

She only hesitated for a moment. “Yes.”

__

I was indeed late to the training yard, though nobody would dare to reproach me except for Thor, which he did immediately and most zealously.

I rolled my eyes when he began reprimanding me, saying how I would not improve if I was late and how disappointed Father would be next time he came to observe us. I pushed past him and told him that I did not care and he should shut up and save his breath.

We sparred and I lost as usual, but I was not so disappointed this time. I had other things on my mind.

I followed Thor to one of the water barrels during one of our breaks and stood next to him.

“Thor,” I said, “I must speak with you.”

He raised his eyebrows as he drank from the ladle, indicating for me to go on.

Now I suddenly felt foolish, though I had to ask somebody and, as much as I disliked Thor sometimes, he was my brother and I did not feel comfortable talking to anybody else about something of this nature. Certainly, I could not speak with Baldr or Týr. Baldr was a moron—not that Thor wasn’t—and I greatly disliked Týr.

“You’ve had mistresses,” I casually observed.

He stopped drinking for a moment to agree with me, but before I could get another word out, he said, “I may have another one soon. There’s a pretty little morsel there in Mother’s—”

“Yes, well, I have a question,” I brusquely interrupted. I had no desire to hear about his newest obsession at present.

“What is it?” he asked, dropping the ladle back onto the side of the barrel.

I lowered my voice and leaned forward. “How do you… how do you keep them happy?”

“Keep who happy?”

“Mistresses,” I clarified through clenched teeth. I did not wish another to overhear us. I already felt like a fool, but the fact was I had never had a mistress before—not one I had planned on keeping for an extended amount of time, anyway—and I knew next to nothing about how to keep them happy when not in bed together.

Thor laughed at me and I frowned.

“How do you keep them happy?” he echoed with a chuckle. And then his eyes widened. “Oh!”

I rolled my eyes as he put his hand on my neck and turned my head towards him. “Did you do it?”

I stared at him venomously.

Thor had always assumed that Stjarna and I were lying together. Many had assumed that, in fact, and I had never been one to deny it, but that night when he had summoned her in his drunkenness, he had come to understand that we never actually had been together, and now that I was asking him, immediately after returning from Midgard with her, he must have realized that now we had lain together.

“On Midgard?” he inquired with a grin. “What a vacation, brother! Was she good?”

I pressed my lips together in irritation and tried to push his arm away, but he held onto me and put the side of his head to mine.

“Is my little brother in love?” he drawled.

I snorted. That would be the day.

“Just tell me,” I said in annoyance, finally disentangling myself from him. “What do you do when you’re not…”

“Fucking?” he finished.

I nodded.

I knew that Stjarna and I would still meet for seidr—that had not changed—but Stjarna would be determined to not let me distract her during our lessons. She would be focused on seidr and nothing else—all that nonsense about keeping a promise to Mother.

But I wanted to see her more than just three times a week, though I knew not where else I would be able to see her and spend time with her. And even if we could meet outside of seidr, what would we do to fill up that time? We could not stay in my bed all the time, as much as I might have liked that. She was my mistress now and I knew there was more to it than just the fucking. But I did not mind that at all—I enjoyed Stjarna’s company as much as I did her body.

“You go on and on about how superiorly intelligent you are to me, brother, but sometimes you can be rather daft,” Thor said haughtily. “You would know all of this already if you’d ever kept a woman for longer than one night—”

“But that’s not what I asked, is it?” I snapped.

Thor merely laughed. He was never put off by my petulance which, to a degree, I was appreciative of.

I said, “What did you do with your mistresses?”

“Well…” Thor looked pensive as he remembered. “Vitundarliga liked walking in the gardens. Hárfagri liked that, too. But she also liked riding. We’d go for outings sometimes.”

I remembered that. Thor would take a day off from his lessons and training to go out cavorting with his mistresses. I had always thought it stupid and a waste of time, but now I was forced to consider it. And now that Thor had mentioned outings, I imagined Stjarna and I outside the city and thought of her spread out beneath me on a hillside in the grass. The thought of that excited me. I wondered if she would like that.

“Saela did not like much, if I recall correctly. She liked staying in, I think. And Aeréna—well, both Aeréna and Áraedibrýnn—”

“Alright,” I said abruptly, cutting him off. This was going nowhere.

“What?” he asked, looking affronted.

“Walking and riding and staying indoors? Thank you for imparting on me your vast wisdom, brother,” I replied sardonically.

Thor continued on, ignoring my cynicism, “Well. Gifts are good, too.”

“Yes,” I concurred.

“Jewels and gowns and trinkets,” he added.

I thought about it, but quickly decided that Stjarna would not like those things. She had never liked accepting gifts from me, anyway. Even in the beginning, she had always been hesitant to receive anything from me.

“What about books?” I ventured.

I had given Stjarna books before, when I had realized that she did not have any of her own. Most of the ones I had given her dealt with runes. I knew she liked those.

Thor scoffed.

But that was stupid to ask, I realized. Of course the women Thor fucked could not be bothered with books. They were all as shallow as him.

But Stjarna wasn’t like that. She would like books.

I ended the conversation then and spent the rest of the morning distracted. Thor kept shouting at me, but he won our next spar, as usual, so I didn’t see what the problem was. I was not concerned with fighting today; I could only think of Stjarna.

My next lesson was with Master Hauknefr, my diplomatic relations tutor. He was a dry old man, though intelligent enough, but I could not keep my mind on what he was talking about today—deteriorating relations between Alfheim and Vanaheim.

Every time he said “Vanr,” I would think of Stjarna naked on my bed the night before and that beautiful expression she got on her face when she came. As he droned on and on about the political environments of the two realms in the past century, I could only imagine the things that Stjarna and I had done the night previous.

Stjarna had not been shy but, then again, she was no virgin.

I had had many virgins before. It was always nice to take a maidenhead, but they usually just lay there, unsure of what to do and too timid to try anything truly pleasurable.

But not Stjarna.

I had seen a completely different side of Stjarna the night before and it had greatly surprised me.

I remembered how she had crawled down my body and teased me with her mouth and fingers until I was begging her to end it. I could not remember the last time I had begged a woman of anything, least of all while in bed, but then afterwards, she had gotten on top of me and ridden my hips until I saw stars.

However, I did not like the thought of how she had gotten to the point she had, how many times she had lain with him, how many times she had done to him what she had done to me.

But gods, it was even better than I imagined. I had not been able to get enough of her. It was as if we had been trying to make up for those two years in just a few hours. I had been all fire and flames and there had been nothing but Stjarna, nothing but her body, and she had been just as eager as me and just as frantic.

Afterwards, when even I could not handle another go, I had held her tightly to me. I had felt that if I did not hold onto her, she would leave and be gone and none of it would have happened. I would awake in my bed alone and Stjarna would be in hers and it would be as it always had been.

But she had stayed with me.

And now I simply had to wait until after dinner to see her again.

The wait was agonizing.

I could not remember the last time I had been so anxious for something.

During the feast that night, I could not take my eyes off of her, though it was difficult to see her from the high table, sitting with all of Mother’s women. But I could see the pale gold of her hair and catch glimpses of her when she laughed. Occasionally, she would glance up at the high table and our eyes would meet.

I could barely contain myself. I kept tapping my leg beneath the table and would not stop fidgeting. Even Mother noticed my restlessness and commented on it.

“Loki, are you alright?”

“Yes,” I said, perhaps a bit tersely.

Thor grinned at me as if he was privy to some weighty secret, but he did not, thankfully, say anything.

When dinner mercifully ended, I went straight to my chambers, knowing it would probably be another half hour, at least, before Stjarna came to me. I started a fire in the fireplace, knowing she would like that, before stripping down to my pants and tunic.

Now I paced. Waiting.

I knew she had to attend to Mother before retiring but gods, how long did it take? I was already hard at just the thought of her, anticipating what was to come.

I sat down and drummed my fingers on the table, bouncing my leg up and down impatiently as I watched the door.

And still it did not open. I growled to myself, wondering if she was taking so long on purpose and if she meant to torment me.

But then I heard the handle turn and the door opened and Stjarna slipped inside.

I bounded out of the chair and was across the room in a matter of seconds. I shut the door for her—she was moving much too slowly—and began tugging at her dress, fit to burst.

“Where were you?” I demanded.

“Loki, it has hardly been fifteen minutes,” she said in surprise, stilling my hands, which were going to open up her dress. “The queen dismissed some of us early.”

I shook my head and grumbled that I was sure it had been over half an hour. Stjarna only laughed at me as she took her shoes off and then took my hands and led me into my bedchamber. I went to help her up onto my bed once we came to stand next to it, but she put her hands on my chest and gently pushed me backwards.

Grinning, and no longer so upset that she had taken so long, despite what she had said, I pulled myself back into the middle of the bed and eagerly watched as she undressed in front of me. With every little bit of her pale skin revealed, I could feel my cock straining uncomfortably against my pants and could feel the heat rising in my body.

At last, she took off her stockings and followed me onto the bed. Before I could do anything, though, she pushed me flat on my back and kissed me, reaching down at the same time to pull my shirt up and over my head. She broke the kiss and I lifted up so she could take it off. She dropped it over the side of the bed and then moved backwards and began untying the laces of my pants.

I let my head fall back, breaths coming faster in my excitement, as she loosened my pants and tugged them down. I lifted my hips off the bed, and then my legs, so she could pull them off. I heard them fall to the floor and then she was crawling back up my body again. She kissed my skin as she went, though she avoided the spot between my legs, which very clearly necessitated attention.

But my frustration quickly dissipated when Stjarna pulled herself up and went to sit on my stomach. The golden curls between her legs tickled my skin and I could feel the moist heat of her sex against me and I very nearly came then.

I was practically shaking I was so impatient, so consumed with this need. I thought on how long I had waited for this, how long I had suffered with these obscene desires and so violently craved her body, and now she was here—had been the whole night before—breathing life into all of these fantasies.

Stjarna, barely concealing a smile, leaned forward, braced her hands on the bed on either side of me, and dragged herself backwards. I lifted up off the bed as she passed over my cock, generously wetting me with her arousal.

“Stjarna,” I said, trying not to sound so desperate and thinking that I could not last much longer, but she was already lifting up on her knees and reaching beneath her to guide me into her. I groaned loudly as she dropped down and hit my pelvis, sheathing me fully with her heat. My hands went immediately to her hips and I dug my nails into her soft flesh for something to hold onto.

I wondered if Stjarna would ever stop feeling this good, if she would ever fail to excite me like she was now, but gods, I could not imagine her ever not being able to bring me to this.

I lay under her, breathing hard, as she stared down at me, head cocked slightly. She splayed her hands on my stomach, closed her eyes, and began rolling her hips on me, almost lazily.

“Fuck,” I breathed.

I let my head fall back and raised my hips to mirror her movements on top of me. She kept moving and kept making these soft little sounds and it was driving me mad. We had to go faster, I could not take this. I reached up, grabbed her arm, and yanked her down towards me. She nearly fell onto me, but caught herself with a delighted little yelp.

I wrapped my hand around the side of her neck and kissed her hard. My other hand I kept on her hip and held her onto me as I began thrusting up into her. She opened her mouth against mine and started panting as she quickly matched my rhythm, moving back and forth on top of me.

I lifted my hips up to meet her when she moved back on me and every time that our bodies met, a little wave of intense pleasure rolled up through me from between my legs. The rhythmical sounds of our flesh, slick with our desire, smacking together over and over, seemed to drive me faster towards my release; I could already feel it boiling in my gut, so quickly.

I opened her mouth with mine and sought her tongue out, feeling this building heat, ready to explode. I needed her to come, needed her to come with me now. I nearly gasped her name into her mouth.

And just as I felt it rising, going to wash over me and I could not stop it, Stjarna suddenly broke the kiss and sat up and went rigid on top of me. I could feel her insides coming around me and I groaned loudly and went to dig my nails into her hips to hold her as tightly as possible onto me as I came with her.

Involuntarily, I lifted my hips up, lifting her up as well, and she made a soft little gasping sound and furrowed her brows and opened her mouth and I saw her lips silently form my name as she sat frozen on top of me, fingers curled on my stomach. I closed my eyes and spilled inside of her and she was still coming with me and I could feel it and only her and this heat and euphoria surging through my body and nothing else.

Gradually, her inner hold on me weakened and I let out a heavy breath and slowly opened my eyes. It took me a moment to focus and to float back down to reality from my high. Stjarna’s head was still upturned and I could not tear my eyes away from her sitting on top of me. Her body glistened with sweat in the firelight, so beautiful with those little tendrils of hair plastered to her face and neck and shoulders and lips parted as she fought to regain her breath.

And then she laughed weakly.

I had noticed that Stjarna liked to laugh when we lay together. I liked it. She had such a beautiful laugh.

Stjarna slowly lowered her head and opened her eyes. She had a faraway look in them and a small, tired smile on her lips.

Gently, I held her hips and helped her to lift up so I could slip out of her. I rolled us over and onto our sides. Stjarna looked at me in what I thought—hoped—was satisfaction. Between us, she languidly stroked the palm of my hand and played with my fingers. I curled my fingers with hers and whispered, “Will you stay with me tonight?”

She laughed quietly. “Yes.”

I leaned forward to kiss her and she met me halfway. We pressed our lips together and merely held them there for a long moment before settling back onto the bed, fingers still twined between us.

In the silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire, I thought that if this was what Thor had always talked about, concerning keeping one woman, I felt foolish now for having dismissed him so easily.


	26. Part I - Chapter 26

Stjarnavetr

And so I was once again mistress to a prince, once more that which I had resisted and fought so vehemently against for years. No longer Whore of Vanaheim, but of Asgard as well.

At first, I had been afraid. When Loki and I began to regularly lie together, I had been filled with worry, but I found that as time passed, my being Loki’s mistress did not bother me so much. I suppose I had always assumed that I would be to Loki what I had been to Valdrlund and when that did not happen my doubts were alleviated.

But it was not like it had been in Vanaheim. Oh, it was nothing like that.

I would come to Loki’s chambers most nights after dinner and stay with him the entire night. Sometimes Loki would have food brought for us, usually something sweet, even very late at night, and we would lounge naked on his bed and eat—sometimes off of each other—and it was only in the morning when I would depart for my own chambers, to ready myself for the day, and he for his lessons.

At times, Loki would even come to my chambers. On the nights when I did not come to him, I would be roused from sleep by a knocking on my door. I would open it and Loki would be leaning in the doorway, growling about how he could not wait until the next night to have me. He would come in and shut the door behind him and take me in his arms and whisper to me all of the lurid things he had imagined us doing and once I was nearly wilting in his arms, he would make love to me on my bed. Afterwards, he would pull me into his arms and whisper sweet nothings into my ear. I loved it when he did that. I must admit that sometimes I would purposefully not go to him, even when he asked me to, knowing that he would come to me. It excited me to no end that Loki should seek me out.

Valdrlund had never done any of that. He never sought me out, unless he was drunk, and he hardly ever held me afterwards, though he always told me he loved me. But unlike Loki, Valdrlund had scarce incited in me anything but some form of mild lust. I could enjoy it when we had lain together, perhaps even manage to bring myself to tumble over that edge, but I had never lost myself in it, had never been able to forget everything around us and feel nothing but his touch and hear nothing but his voice—not like I did with Loki.

I never would have thought how conscientious of a lover Loki could be. These past years, he had always presented, for the most part, a sort of cold demeanor and, at times, had been frightening. I had believed that he might be like Valdrlund, despite all the things he had said to me about being an attentive lover.

But he was nothing like Valdrlund.

Often, Loki was so tender and loving to me—a most assiduous lover, as he had once told me. He would treat me with such adulation, not just using my body to slake his own lusts, as had Valdrlund. He was always there with me, riding the waves of my release or drawing his own pleasure from mine. It was something so new to me, something so thrilling, to know that my own ecstasy could bring such satisfaction to another. And Loki certainly did not fail to indulge me.

But Loki could be so much more than just an indulgent lover.

I saw a very different side of him in those following months.

At times, Loki was nearly insatiable—impassioned and driving, almost seemingly not caring to be gentle or conscious of my comfort.

He would dig his fingers into my skin, break it with his nails, sink his teeth into my flesh until sometimes he drew blood, but always afterwards he would run his long fingers over my body, using the healing spell I had taught him on Midgard to mend me. He would so lovingly kiss the spots he had marked, the bruises and the scratches and the aches he had left in the wake of his passion.

At first, I had been surprised to see this side of Loki. Valdrlund had never been so aggressive with me when we had lain together, unless he was drunk and angry, but I discovered that I liked it when Loki was rough with me. I liked it when he bit me and bruised my lips with the intensity of his kisses, when he took me so completely and so exhaustively that I could do nothing but lie there afterwards, scarcely able to move.

Occasionally, Loki would bind me to the bed with his seidr to keep my arms from movement. Initially, I had been terrified at the thought of being restrained, but Loki had allayed me of my fears and I had relented and was surprisingly glad that I had. There was something so awfully arousing about watching him crawl up or down my body and I unable to do anything but watch. When Loki insisted that I do the same to him, I would not hesitate to pleasure him as he had me—I very much liked it.

I had never done anything like this, even in a century with Valdrlund. He had not been very adventurous and I had never encouraged his more eccentric side, but Loki had no qualms about sex and enjoyed trying new things. Much to his delight, I found that I liked it, all of this that I had never experienced with Valdrlund and now that Loki brought out in me. I responded with vehemence to his rough ministrations and it was not uncommon for us to heal each other with seidr after our trysts.

And while Loki could be obdurate and rather cold at times, he could also be astonishingly sentimental.

When we were not lying together or taken up with our other duties, Loki would sometimes insist that we walk together. We would walk through the palace and the grounds and sometimes he would even take me down into the city. Now and then, when he had a day off (or when he took a day off from his lessons, which he rarely had done before) he would have us go outside the city into the countryside and we would spend the day together in the fields or forest.

Loki also once again began giving me gifts. At first, I was reluctant to accept them, but he told me now that we were lying together, we both had to give a little. For me, he said, that meant being more receptive and accepting his gifts without complaint. I tried to do this, all the while wondering what exactly he was giving up.

But I truly did not mind it that much.

Some part of me had thought it would be as it had been in Vanaheim, when I began lying with Loki. Valdrlund was all I had ever known and I had always wondered as to how Loki could be any different. But when Loki and I were together, it was almost easy to forget why I had held out so long against him; when I lay next to him, curled into his side with his arm around me, I thought that, at last, I could be happy.

__

Perhaps six months after our return from Midgard, one of the greater annual hunts in Asgard was held.

It was an occasion looked forward to by many. Once a year, the Allfather and his sons and some of the other gods, including Týr and Baldr, went on a hunt. It was meant to essentially display the prowess of the king and his family, but there was a magnificent banquet held afterwards, with dancing and merriment, where all the beasts that had been killed that day were served.

Prince Thor loved these types of things, but I knew Loki disliked them. He had complained to me before of how much he loathed hunting. Usually he could get out of it, but not with this particular hunt. As the prince, he was obligated to participate. He grumbled about it incessantly for a month before and I was sure he would still be grumbling about it a month later.

But while Loki was only dreading the hunt, I was dreading the banquet. I had never much cared for banquets in Vanaheim. When I had first been brought to court, I had very much enjoyed the festivities, but as time wore on I became disenchanted with them and elected to sit everything out.

So I was not expecting much from this banquet.

One night, about a week before the hunt and subsequently the banquet, Loki and I were dining in his chambers. He asked me if I was looking forward to the revelry.

I gave a little shrug and said, “It is as any other banquet.”

And I knew it would be. There would be drinking and dancing and unbearably loud carousing in the great hall and, as I had all the other times, I would probably sit with Gullhár, for she did not much like dancing and often chose to sit off to the side.

Loki looked affronted. “But it is not as any other banquet. You will be eating the venison that I killed.”

“You’ve not gone on the hunt yet,” I said with a small laugh. “What if you don’t kill anything?”

“Then I will never hear the end of it,” he replied scornfully. “From Thor or Father. Or any of the others, really. But that is no matter. I may find hunting dull, but I am perfectly capable.”

“I do not doubt you,” I smiled, thinking back to the night that he had come to me asking me to be his mistress. He had just come back from a hunt then and had been covered in blood. I remembered that when he had kissed me, I had been able to taste it in my mouth.

“Do you like to dance, Stjarna?” Loki inquired suddenly, bringing me out of my little reverie.

“Not particularly,” I answered, looking down at my plate.

I thought back to a couple of years ago. When Loki had first began showing an interest in me, he had asked me once or twice at banquets to dance, but I had always declined and eventually he had stopped asking. 

It was not that I did not know how to dance. I did, for the queen required all of her ladies to know how to dance. It had been difficult for me at first to learn the Asgardian dances, as they were much more intricate and much stiffer than the dances we had in Vanaheim, but even then, I had not done much dancing in Vanaheim. Valdrlund had not liked dancing—he thought it foolish—and would occupy his time with drinking or participating in games of strength with the other men. And it was not as if I could have danced with another man, so I had sat there as I now sat in Asgard when there was dancing.

But I did not wish to discuss any of that with Loki.

“Do you dance?” I asked him. I suddenly realized that in nearly three years, I had never seen him dance. Sometimes he would come down from the high table and mingle, but never dance. Just because he had asked me to dance before did not necessarily he mean he could dance, I thought with some amusement. 

“No, though I know how. And so does Thor. Mother made sure of that,” he snorted in derision.

I laughed, imagining Queen Frigga sitting in her chambers with her two sons stumbling around trying to learn the steps.

“I have never seen you dance,” I mused.

Loki shook his head and took a draught of wine. “Well, I’ve never seen you dance, either, Stjarna. In fact, do you not tend to leave these things early?”

“What?”

Loki smiled thinly. “I remember many times when you left a banquet or feast early, feigning sickness or some other nonsense.”

My lips parted in surprise. I said quietly, “I have never much cared for the… frivolity.”

“That’s a shame,” Loki smirked.

I leaned forward and said with a grin, “Well, maybe there will be a drinking contest and perhaps there will be a goat wandering around that we can—”

“Why must you always bring that up?” he snapped.

I only laughed.

Loki rolled his eyes and sighed. “Anyway, I am not allowed the luxury of leaving like you are. Protocol dictates that I must sit through it all and watch Thor get drunk.”

“So you do not like banquets?” I inquired curiously.

He shrugged. He said ambivalently, “I care not, truly. It is just something else to sit through and I’ve sat through thousands of them. They lose their appeal after a while.”

“Well, maybe this one will not be so bad,” I said.

He only scoffed.

__

Loki awoke early the morning of the hunt, before the light of day had even begun to creep into his room. Before he got out of the bed, though, he wrapped his arms around me and buried his face in between my neck and shoulder.

He murmured, “I would much rather lie here in bed with you than partake in this foolishness.”

“It is only one day,” I said sleepily, lightly stroking his arm.

He groaned and rolled out of the bed. Though I was still tired, I sat up and watched him prepare. I was not bored, though; he complained to himself the entire time, which I thought amusing.

Right before he left, he came over to me, still lying propped up in his bed, and bent over and kissed me on the mouth. I reached up to hold his head in my hands and returned his kiss. When he pulled away, he whispered, “Wish me luck, Stjarna.”

I smiled up at him. “Good luck, Your Highness.”

He laughed as he turned around and left.

Soon I went back to my own chambers to ready for the day.

It was not until much later that afternoon when the hunting party returned. We heard that the hunt had been a great success. Thor, as usual, managed to outdo everybody. Loki did not do so badly, though, I learned. At least the others would not tease him for having managed to kill nothing.

I was very excited to see Loki that night. I knew I would not be able to speak with him until the banquet, though, if he chose to even come down from the high table. And as I had suspected, after the feast, I sat with Gullhár against the wall after the tables had been cleared to make room in the hall for dancing.

The musicians set up near the end of the hall and couples began to drift onto the floor. Gullhár and I watched all of the courtiers dancing; even the queen danced with Thor, who was slightly drunk, as Loki had said, but the queen did not seem to mind in the slightest. She was laughing.

I could see Loki up at the high table, which was nearly deserted save for the Allfather and a smattering of some of the higher-up gods. He was lounging in his chair, looking terribly bored, as he usually did at banquets. That had always surprised me, to be honest. Loki seemed like the type that would revel in these things. I remember that he had been very excited for the party Thor had put on after Njord and Skadi’s wedding, but in looking around, I realized that that party had been a very different type of celebration compared to this one.

I could understand now why Loki looked so bored.

It was perhaps an hour later, and nearing the end of the banquet, when I turned to Gullhár to comment on something. Before I could get a word out, however, she looked up and suddenly leapt to her feet. I turned to look, wondering as to her unexpected movement, and saw Loki standing there.

I quickly stood up as Gullhár bowed. I also bowed. Though Loki and I were lying together, in public I still needed to treat him as befitting his station.

“Your Highness,” both Gullhár and I said.

Loki gave us a small smile and then extended his arm to me.

“Would you care to dance?” he inquired.

I stared at him briefly, lips parted in surprise, before I hesitantly slipped my fingers into his. He smirked at me as he held my hand and led me out onto the floor.

I was a bit nervous, seeing as how he had chosen to begin in the middle of an ongoing dance. I could already feel a flush creeping over my skin and I could not tell if I was more anxious or embarrassed. I could see people looking at us, for certainly it was an odd sight for Prince Loki to be dancing.

“What are you doing?” I asked quietly as Loki put his left hand on my hip and lifted my hand into the air with his right one. I tentatively rested my right arm on his.

“Dancing,” he responded.

“I thought you hated dancing.”

“Yes, well, I was bored. And you looked so very lonely over there.”

“I was sitting with Gullhár—”

“Would you rather not dance, then?”

“No, no,” I quickly said. “I would.”

He smiled and waited for a quick break in the music before he began moving. I stumbled once or twice—it had been so long since I had danced, or taken part in one of the queen’s lessons—but I quickly fell into the steps.

Loki, to my amazement, was a superb dancer. I knew he had told me that he knew how to dance, but he was marvelously lithe and graceful in his movements. I probably looked quite clumsy next to him, but he did not tease me, much to my relief.

As we danced, I said, “Congratulations on the hunt.”

It looked as if Loki was trying to hold back a chuckle. “I will admit, I did have a marvelous day today. Thor fell off of his horse twice and Týr nearly accidentally speared Baldr through the heart.”

“Oh, it did sound like a good day for you,” I laughed.

Suddenly, Loki moved his hand from my hip to the small of my back, pulling me flush against him. I let out a little breath, feeling the hardness of his ceremonial armor pressing into me through my dress.

“Loki,” I warned.

I knew what he was doing.

“Mmm?” he smiled.

My voice was firm. “No.”

He raised his eyebrows and said in mock innocence, “But I’ve not done anything yet, Stjarna.”

“I know you will,” I countered, holding his hand tighter as he slowly spun me around. All of the other couples on the floor turned with us, in time with the music, and Loki never took his eyes off of me. I thought once or twice he might kiss me—he kept leaning in and grinning licentiously at me—but he did not.

Soon there came another rise in the music and as Loki spun me around again, he lowered his head and I felt his breath warm on my neck. His lips were near my ear and he began to whisper to me all of the vulgar things he had imagined today, all of the indecent things he had wished to do to me when he got back.

I gasped when I felt his teeth nip sharply, though painlessly, at my earlobe, and felt the wetness of his tongue as he briefly sucked on it and my earring.

“Loki!” I whispered harshly, even as a rivulet of excitement coursed its way through my body and straight to the spot between my legs.

I missed a step and nearly stumbled against him. I heard him chuckle as he pulled back and playfully smirked at me. He had not missed one step.

Now I was discomfited, which Loki thought amusing. I prayed nobody had seen, though I could not find it in myself to hastily glance around to see if anybody was staring at us.

Even Thor did not publicly display affection for his mistress. He had, just in these past few months, acquired a new one: Haegr, of our very own little circle. Though he had danced with her this night, he had not kissed her (that I had seen) or, I am sure, suckled on her earlobe in a most salacious manner.

I was in a state for the rest of the dance. When it ended with a flourish, Loki slowly took a step back, though he kept my hand in his. I held my breath as he lifted my hand and kissed my fingers, letting his lips linger on my knuckles. I could have sworn I felt the brief wetness of his tongue on my skin before he released my fingers and put his hand on his stomach. He brushed his cape behind him, lowered his head, and deeply bowed to me.

I stared down at him, trying my best to not let my mouth fall open. I could, out of the corners of my eyes, see others standing and watching us, even as the floor began to clear for a new dance to begin.

When Loki stood erect, he was smiling widely without showing his teeth.

A small part of me was mortified that Loki should do this in front of everybody, as he was the prince and I only a handmaiden and it was not seemly for him to be bowing to me, but a larger part of me absolutely reveled in it. Suddenly feeling very mischievous, I took a step forward. No longer heeding the stares of the other courtiers, I reached up and rested my hand on the back of Loki’s neck and he bent down slightly to hear me.

I rose up on my tiptoes and whispered, “I am not feeling well and think I shall retire early. Try not to keep me waiting too long, Prince, or I may have to try some of those things you suggested by myself.”

When I pulled back, I was amused to see that Loki was not smiling anymore. I am sure at the moment he was inwardly cursing the protocol that required him to see the banquet through to its end.

“I will see you in your chambers,” I said with a small smile. I bowed to him and turned to leave. I would go to Gullhár and tell her I was retiring early before making my way to Loki’s chambers.

As I walked, I thought it odd that I should be so forward, but Loki’s dancing with me, and prurient words, had put me in a giddy and rather impish mood. And though I did not want to try anything Loki had mentioned tonight, I did want to have a little fun.

Upon reaching Loki’s chambers, I went straight to his bath chamber and drew a hot bath. I knew he had bathed upon returning from the hunt—he could not have attended the banquet rank with sweat and blood and who knows what else—but I did not think he would object to another one, especially if I insisted on bathing with him.

I perused some of the bottles he had on his shelf and selected one at random. It did not smell at all like the ones I had. While the oils I used were generally very sweet, this one was much more brisk. I set the bottle on the little table next to his tub, along with a pitcher on the floor.

I knew he should be coming soon, for the banquet had been drawing to a close when I had excused myself.

I had only been waiting for perhaps half an hour, sitting on the edge of his tub, trailing my hand lazily through the water and keeping it consistently hot with my seidr, when I heard the door open in the other room. I smiled, feeling very pleased. He had not kept me waiting long at all.

I stood up, feeling a frisson of excitement, and shook off the excess water on my hand. I went to the open doorway and peered out into his chambers.

Loki stood by his table, reaching up to remove his helmet.

I said his name and he turned his head to look at me. I came out of his bath chamber and approached him, smiling all the while. Once I was standing in front of him, I took his hands in mine and lifted up to kiss him on the mouth.

“Why is your hand wet?” Loki questioned after I had pulled away.

Instead of answering him, I began pulling him towards his bath chamber. When we passed his bed, he shot me an inquiring look.

Instead of answering his silent question, I asked, “Are you sore?”

“Erm—”

“From the hunt?”

“Just a little,” he answered.

I did not see how he could not be aching all over. He had been on a horse and riding hard nearly the entire day.

“I’ve prepared a bath for you,” I explained, glancing at him.

“I already took a bath upon my return this afternoon—”

“Yes, but that was only to freshen up for the banquet.” Once we stood in the middle of his bath chamber, I turned to him. “Wouldn’t you like to soak?”

Loki looked behind me and saw the full tub, with little tendrils of steam rising off of the surface of the water, and smiled knowingly now. “If you insist, Stjarna.”

“Well, you cannot get in still clad in your armor,” I observed, glancing down at his front.

He raised his hands and began to unfasten a piece of his armor, but I stilled his hands.

“Let me,” I murmured, moving to take up where he had left off.

I had become very skilled at undressing Loki these past months. In the beginning, I had insisted that he allow me to practice on his various outfits, as they all presented a challenge to me. He had thought that incredibly amusing, though he had indulged me. It had certainly helped and now when I went to undress him, he did not get impatient and push my hands away to do it himself.

As I set the various metal pieces from his chest and stomach on a little table by the wall, Loki reached up and began unpinning my hair. I had forgotten to unpin it for him, but I did not say anything. I liked the feeling of his fingers moving through my hair, seeking out the pins, and besides, I knew he liked taking my hair down.

As my hair fell heavily down my back, I finished with the armor on his front and shoulders and began to loosen the metal vambraces on his arms. Even though I was much faster at undressing Loki now, it still took me a while to fully divest him of his clothing.

Once he was finally naked, I said, “Alright.”

He laughed as he went past me and stepped into the tub. He turned around and carefully lowered himself into the water.

He grimaced. “Why’s it so hot, Stjarna?”

“It isn’t that hot,” I dismissed, not looking up. I was busy disrobing myself.

“Are all your baths this hot?” he asked, sounding uncomfortable.

“It’s not that hot,” I reiterated. I opened my dress up and let it fall down, where it pooled at my feet in a golden puddle.

“Oh, will you be taking a soak with me, as well?” Loki inquired, cocking an eyebrow. Now that I was naked in front of him, the temperature of the water did not seem so important.

“If you do not mind?” I asked, playing along.

He flashed me a furtive smile. “Not a bit.”

Once my stockings were off, I made my way to the side of the tub and stepped in. I let out a heavy breath of contentment as I lowered myself and the hot water enveloped my body.

Loki sat up and spread his legs, allowing me room to kneel in front of him. I slowly moved forward and I heard his intake of breath as I went to straddle him. Loki’s tub was very large and there was plenty of room for us to move around. He put his hands on my hips as I settled onto his lower stomach and I tried to fight back a smile—I could already feel him stirring against me between my legs.

“Do you hurt?” I asked softly, splaying my hands on his chest.

“Only a bit,” he answered softly, staring at me.

I looked down and sent a small amount of seidr into him. His body immediately, almost involuntarily, relaxed against the slanting back of the tub. I reached behind me and put my hands on the tops of his thighs and sent another little burst of seidr into him and he sighed.

“Is that better?”

“Yes,” he responded, giving a little nod.

I smiled and reached next to the tub, where I had put the small pitcher. I picked it up, dipped it in the water, and then lifted it above his head. As I tilted it and the water ran in streams down over his head, Loki asked with a small laugh, “What are we doing now?”

“Washing,” I said.

“Mmm,” he smiled.

Once his hair was soaked, I took the bottle off the little table next to the tub and uncorked it. I poured a small amount of the oil into my palm and reached up. Loki closed his eyes and hummed in pleasure as I rubbed the oil through his soft hair and worked my fingers against his scalp.

When I was satisfied with my work, I took the pitcher up again and rinsed his hair. After I was finished, I set the pitcher aside and pushed the hair stuck to his face out of the way. He opened his eyes and saw me smiling at him.

“Do you like this?” I inquired, knowing full well that he did by the way he was pressing into my center and the way he kept subtly moving his hips beneath me. And I am sure he could feel how much I liked it, too, even beneath the water.

He grinned at me. “Yes. Can you not tell?”

I laughed my assent as I leaned forward and kissed him. He opened his mouth and our tongues moved languidly against each other. The heat of the bath seemed to have slowed us, but I doubt either of us cared. I certainly did not. The heat and the laziness of it all only seemed to heighten the pleasure.

As we kissed, I moved one of my hands from his chest and lifted up on my knees and reached between us. I lightly wrapped my fingers around him and smiled against his mouth when I felt him stiffen beneath me. He let out a heavy breath as I lowered myself in the water and let him shallowly dip inside me. I only teased him for another moment before slowly sinking onto him, biting my bottom lip to hold back a whimper at the overwhelming sensation of him filling me.

Loki groaned and closed his eyes, tilting his head back against the tub and slightly arching his back.

I closed my eyes and put both of my hands on either side of the tub. I sat motionless on top of him, allowing myself to adjust to his length inside me. After a few moments, I slowly opened my eyes and looked down. Loki still reclined against the back of the tub with his eyes closed, tendrils of his black hair plastered to his forehead and temples. I took in the quickening rise and fall of his chest, how his skin, usually so white, was now slightly pink due to the heat of the water.

Holding onto the edge of the tub, I began rolling my hips. The liquid heat on my skin seemed to accentuate every movement and I almost gasped at the extraordinary feeling bubbling in my lower half. Loki groaned again and sank a little deeper into the water. When he opened his eyes, he looked up at me and I held his gaze, watching his eyes following me, seeing his lips part as his breaths became more ragged.

I stared at him as I moved, transfixed. I would never have thought that I could glean such pleasure from simply watching him as I took him. I loved it all—when he murmured my name when I touched him a certain way, how he dug his nails into my skin, the subtle trembling of his body when he was near to his release.

Loki had told me before how much he loved seeing me come undone for him, how it drove him wild, but I wondered if he knew how unbearably arousing his own visage of ecstasy could be?

I slid my hands along the edge of the tub until I gripped the rim on either side of Loki’s head. I leaned forward and kissed him again. He sluggishly returned the kiss as I began this lethargic rocking back and forth on him. I closed my eyes as I moved, letting myself only feel him beneath me and inside me, letting myself only hear our labored breathing and the water lapping against the tub and our joined bodies.

I moved my head and pressed it against Loki’s and he lightly kissed the front of my shoulder. His breaths were coming faster now and more unevenly on my warm skin. When he moved his hands up my back and tangled his fingers in my damp hair, I knew he was close; I could sense my own impending release as well, building like a slow fire in my lower belly.

I shakily released the edge of the tub with one hand and reached between our bodies, into the tepid water, to press against the bundle of nerves at the top of my sex. Every time I moved, it brushed against Loki’s skin, but it was not enough. I began to circle it with my fingers and I whimpered into Loki’s ear and I felt him brace his feet against the end of the tub and begin to move his hips, attempting to match my lazy rhythm.

After a few moments, I could feel it so close. I was not moving up and down on him anymore, but rolling my hips, for I was unable to lift up without my legs shaking.

I started panting and Loki clutched me tighter to him and I could feel the beginnings of it, could feel the muscles in my lower abdomen quivering, and I squeezed my eyes shut, begging it to come now as I ground my hips against the front of Loki’s pelvis.

It was when Loki bit me that I finally came undone.

I lowered my head and pressed my face hard into the top of Loki’s shoulder and cried out, my muscles taut and my body shaking. My other hand fell from the rim of the tub and my fingers instinctively grabbed the first thing they came in contact with, which was a handful of Loki’s dripping hair.

I hardly felt Loki come inside me, barely felt him lift his hips and go rigid beneath me and let out a broken groan.

My mind seemed to go blank and all I could feel were those hot waves reverberating through me, the warm water on my skin and Loki holding me so tightly against his hard body. I almost did not hear him gasp my name, but I could not focus on that now, only this violent and wonderful sensation tearing my body apart and igniting every nerve inside me until I was shuddering and gasping and nearly on the verge of crying.

And then slowly, so slowly, the tremors of my release faded and I collapsed on top of Loki, breathing hard. I could only focus on my heartbeat, pounding so loudly and so quickly in my chest, and so I lay there on him, trying to catch my breath, while he soothingly ran his fingers up and down my spine and lightly kissed my shoulder.

After a few minutes, I lifted up and brought my trembling hand out from between my legs.

I braced myself on the back of the tub and managed to push myself up and look down at Loki.

He opened his eyes and just stared up at me.

I leaned forward and lightly pressed my forehead to his.

I said breathlessly, “Did I not say today would not be so bad?”

He managed to laugh. “Yes, but I’m not sure I expected this.”

“Neither did I,” I breathed.

Loki encircled me with his arms and sat up. I lifted up off of him and sat back at the opposite end of the tub, my entire body feeling unbelievably heavy. Loki moved to help me up, for my legs were still shaky, and we dried each other off.

We went into the next room and tumbled into his bed. Loki pulled me into an embrace beneath the bedcovers and tangled his legs with mine and buried his face in my hair and began whispering to me.

Shortly after, his murmured endearments lulled me into a dreamless sleep.


	27. Part I - Chapter 27

Loki

I had only been sitting with Master Elding, my history tutor, for half an hour before I had grown weary with boredom. The topic today was the Aesir-Vanir war and its repercussions. While the war did interest me, today I was feeling restless. I did not want to sit here any longer and listen to his dry and endless rambling.

And so, I politely interrupted him and excused myself for the day.

I made my way immediately to Mother’s chambers, thinking that while the past tribulations of the Vanir were fascinating, I was more currently interested in the Vana waiting for me.

When the Einherjar outside Mother’s chambers saw me coming, one of them turned into the doorway and announced me. I brushed past them and went into her rooms. All of her women were scattered around her receiving chamber in their own little groups, playing cards or sewing or talking.

Mother was sitting with one of the groups, a handful of embroidery in her lap. She smiled at me when I entered and I returned the gesture.

“Good afternoon, Mother,” I smiled. “I’ve come to inquire if you would be so kind as to grant Lady Stjarnavetr leave for the afternoon.”

Mother looked over at Stjarna, who was sitting with the same group of women she was always sitting with, “Of course. You may go, Stjarnavetr.”

I looked over at Stjarna expectantly. She rose out of her chair and I discerned the rosy flush of her cheeks. I had to fight back a smile. Stjarna absolutely hated it when I came to get her like this in front of all the other women.

I extended my arm for her to take and she took it and I led her out of Mother’s chambers.

Once out in the corridor, as I knew she would, Stjarna said, “I do not like it when you do that.”

“When I do what?” I asked, though I very well knew what she was talking about. We had been through this before.

“When you come and… collect me.”

“Why not?” I inquired, feigning insult.

“I just do not like it. I do not like to be stared at like that. And… and you need not try to show them all that we are… together.”

I laughed loudly as we walked. “It’s not as if it’s some great secret that we are lying together. Did not everybody think us lovers even before?”

“Yes,” Stjarna replied uneasily, “but still.”

“But don’t you like it when I come and rescue you from all that infernal women’s work?”

“Sewing?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “It is not that horrible.” And now she lost her sour expression and smiled. “Would you ever deign to learn embroidery, Loki?”

I scoffed. “I have much better things to be doing than sitting with a needle and thread. Besides, I have others who mend my clothing if I tear them.”

Stjarna laughed quietly and then asked where we were going.

“I just wanted to walk around. Master Elding was boring me.”

“What was he talking about?”

“The war.”

“The war?”

“Our war,” I said, glancing over at her with a small grin.

She still looked confused.

“The Aesir-Vanir war?”

“Oh, yes. That was so long ago,” she remarked.

“Not that long. It only ended a couple of thousand years ago.”

I had grown up hearing all about the war, how Asgard and Vanaheim had battled for so long, Asgard relying on the brute force of their warriors, while the Vanir depended on their magic. Both realms had suffered greatly; Asgard’s walls had been razed to the ground, while Vanaheim’s lands had been ravaged. There had been many casualties on both sides and neither realm had been able to gain an upper hand—victory had always seemed just out of reach.

The war had only ended when both sides had grown weary of fighting and a truce had been called. As tribute, hostages were sent to each realm. To Asgard came the twins Frey and Freyja and to Vanaheim Father sent two men named Hoenir and Mímir.

While Frey and Freyja had been treated with reverence here in Asgard, and still were, not at all like hostages, it had not gone so well for Hoenir and Mímir in Vanaheim. The Vanir had elevated Hoenir to a position of power, thinking he would make a good leader, for they thought him very wise, but as time passed, they recognized Hoenir for what he was—a fraud and an idiot—when they realized that it was Mímir giving him all of the answers to their questions. It was shortly after when the Vanir, in a fit of rage, beheaded Mímir and sent his severed head back to Father. He had been furious, but the Vanir had been even angrier, accusing Father of sending them fools when they had sent hostages of eminence, decrying that he had tried to make a joke of them.

Though Father had been irate, he had not retaliated against the Vanir and things had calmed between the two realms. Now Asgard and Vanaheim existed in a sort of uneasy peace.

“Haegr was talking about Thor today,” Stjarna said suddenly, drawing me out of my thoughts on the war.

“Oh?”

Stjarna talked to me of the handmaidens sometimes and I knew many of their names now. Not that I particularly cared, but Stjarna enjoyed talking about it. If she would endure my talking of the training yard and Thor’s idiocy, I must endure her trivial women’s gossip.

“What did she say about him?” I asked curiously.

Thor had told me of his new mistress. She was one of those in Stjarna’s circle and relatively new to Mother’s retinue. He very much liked her. He said she was very pure and had not had much experience with anything carnal. For some reason, he liked that.

“She mostly talked about what a wonderful lover he is,” Stjarna observed.

“Do you tell your friends what a wonderful lover I am?” I grinned.

Stjarna looked affronted. “I do not speak of you to the others.”

“Why not?” I asked. “Don’t you want to make them all jealous?”

“No. It is none of their business the things… we do.”

“The things we do! You make it all sound shameful, Stjarna.”

When I saw Stjarna’s cheeks pinken, I laughed loudly.

Stjarna looked pensive, then. She asked hesitantly, “Do you tell the others about me, Loki?”

“No,” I answered truthfully. “I do not.”

“I am glad for that,” Stjarna murmured, leaning into me.

I do not know what it was, but before when I fucked a woman, I would not mind to tell Thor, as he did me. But I did not ever speak to him of Stjarna. Probably, in part, because of when he had called her to him that night and nearly taken her. I did not want to discuss her body or how satisfying she was to me with him or anybody else.

In fact, I did not want to share any part of her with anybody. I liked the idea of my being the only one to possess her. Though she had lain with that Van idiot for nearly a century, I was the only other man she had ever lain with and I knew for a fact that I was a more fulfilling lover to her than he had been.

And yet, I thought of him often.

When Stjarna and I lay together, I wondered if he had ever done this or that to her, or if she had liked it. Had he ever brought her to screaming like I could? Had he ever had her writhing on the bed beneath him, begging him like she did me? And then, when I was finished with her and she hardly able to breathe, I felt my questions answered. I would smile to myself and think that no, he surely had never brought her to this. I was better than him in every conceivable way. I was superior to him.

I inquired then if Stjarna wished to walk in the gardens next and she acquiesced easily enough. I had never much cared for the gardens before, for they did not hold anything of interest for me, but when walking with Stjarna, I did not mind so much. They were very expansive and elaborate. Tall hedges, set up in mazelike designs, dominated the area, while large and ornate fountains were scattered throughout.

We had been wandering aimlessly for a while, talking of nothing and everything when, suddenly, Stjarna turned her head to look behind us. She stopped and whispered urgently, “Loki!”

I turned, hearing the slight panic in her voice, and was surprised to see a great wolf standing in the path behind us. It was very large, its fur a dusky grey and its eyes a bright yellow.

I only laughed. I let go of Stjarna’s arm, squatted down, and extended my hand.

I heard Stjarna’s sharp intake of breath as the wolf padded towards me, eyes trained on mine. When it stood in front of me, the wolf sniffed my hand briefly before licking my fingers.

“Which one is that?” Stjarna asked warily.

“Freki,” I responded.

Freki was one of Father’s pet wolves. They mostly wandered around, keeping to themselves.

“He is so big,” Stjarna breathed. “I have never been this close. I did not realize how large…”

Father’s wolves were indeed large. If I had been standing upright, Freki would have come up to my waist. At the moment, his snout was level with my face.

I turned my head and saw Stjarna still standing cautiously behind me. I laughed quietly and reached up and took her hand in mine. I gently pulled her down next to me and tried to reassure her. “He’ll not take a bite out of you, Stjarna. Come pet him.”

Stjarna tentatively reached out to touch Freki’s fur and then moved to scratch under his throat. I grinned when Freki made a sound of contentment, closed his eyes, and lifted his head to allow Stjarna more freedom in scratching him.

“Oh, I think he likes you,” I observed, going to rub behind his ears.

“Where is the other one?” Stjarna inquired, keeping her eyes trained on Freki’s face.

“Geri?” I said, looking up to scan the immediate area. “I don’t see him, but he should be close by. The two never stray far from each other. Geri’s not as social as Freki, though. I’ve always liked Freki more.” I ran my hand down Freki’s back and then said with a chuckle, “Sometimes, they will come to the table and Father will feed them the meat off his plate. Mother hates it when he does that, but he doesn’t care.”

When Stjarna laughed, Freki opened his eyes and turned to lick her arm. She jumped at his sudden movement, but smiled and looked at me.

I stood up. “Yes, he definitely likes you.”

Stjarna gave Freki a final scratch before I took her arm and we began walking again. Stjarna turned her head to look back and exclaimed, “Oh! I think I saw Geri. He has black fur?”

“Yes.”

Stjarna smiled up at me. “Do you like the Allfather’s other pets as well?”

“What, his ravens? Not at all. Munin nearly pecked my eye out when I was younger.”

Stjarna laughed loudly. “Whatever would possess him to do something like that?”

I smirked. “I was using him for target practice.”

“Target practice?” Stjarna looked appalled. “Loki, that is terrible.”

“What? I never hit him. The little bastard was too fast.”

“You should not have done that,” Stjarna reproved.

“Yes, well, it seems I am always doing things that I should not be doing.”

With that, I suddenly turned and pushed Stjarna up against one of the tall hedges.

“Loki!” she gasped, gripping my arms.

But before she could protest, I leaned down and kissed her openmouthed. She responded eagerly and after a moment I broke the kiss and lowered my head to press my lips to the side of her neck. She immediately lifted her head, allowing me to continue. I smiled against her skin; Stjarna loved it when I kissed her neck and I often indulged her. I let my tongue graze her skin as I nipped at the spot beneath her ear.

My hands were roaming all over her body, up and down her sides, over the soft swells of her breasts, on her hips and pulling her against me. I began sucking at the soft skin between her neck and shoulder and pushed one of my legs between hers. As I pressed her harder into the wall of leaves, I murmured breathlessly, “Do you want to?”

I felt Stjarna’s hesitation, even as I moved to kiss her shoulder.

For the past month or so, I had been hinting to Stjarna that I wished to have her somewhere other than our chambers. I had always liked fucking in places where we might be discovered; I had told Stjarna before that I liked the threat of being caught, the thrill that the risk brought. She had seemed hesitant, but had not yet outright told me no. I had been trying to make it happen at various points these past months, but she had always pulled away, too reluctant.

“I’ll put up an illusion,” I said, moving back up to kiss her on the mouth.

“I don’t know, Loki,” she whispered unsurely.

I tried to reassure her, but she was still uncertain.

After a moment, she murmured, “You will not drop the illusion?”

I laughed. “No.”

“If you do, I will be very angry,” she warned.

I kissed her again, excitement coursing through me at realizing that she was allowing me this. “Oh, I would not want to make my Vana angry.”

Now she sought my lips out and brought her hands up to tangle her fingers in my hair. She pushed against me and I pushed back, pinning her to the hedge. I pressed my hips against her, feeling myself responding.

And then, just as I reached between us to fumble with the laces of my pants, I heard voices.

“Fuck,” I growled in irritation. I pulled away from Stjarna and we were both quiet.

We heard quiet laughter on the other side of the hedge—two people that would soon turn the corner onto our path.

I looked at Stjarna, who was smiling. Probably in relief.

“I can still put up the illusion,” I said quietly, grasping at any chance that she still might want to do it.

“But they’ll be able to hear,” she responded. She was right; while illusions could hide us, they did not block sound.

“Then we will be very quiet.”

Stjarna smiled, but shook her head.

I groaned in frustration, inwardly cursing whoever should turn the corner. I raked my fingers through my hair to smooth it out and Stjarna quickly adjusted her dress, for I had twisted it out of place, and ran her hands quickly over her hair to check for stray leaves. I picked one out of her hair that she had missed just as a man and woman, their arms linked, turned the corner.

It was the god Frey and his twin sister Freyja.

I wanted to roll my eyes.

Freyja lit up when she saw me.

“Your Highness!” she beamed. “What a pleasant surprise! We did not expect to see you and…” her eyes slid over to Stjarna, who stood next to me, “the Lady…?”

“Stjarnavetr,” Stjarna answered quietly.

Freyja tilted her head. “Lady Stjarnavetr. Sister.” She let go of Frey’s arm and came forward. I took a step back as Freyja went to embrace Stjarna. She kissed her on either cheek and pulled back.

Freyja then turned to me and I did my best not to grimace when she rose up on her tiptoes—she only reached my chest—and went to kiss me on either cheek, as well. I was somewhat surprised when I felt her press against me and linger there; I could feel the softness of her breasts against me and I felt an irritatingly involuntary flare of heat between my legs at her proximity.

She pulled back, smiling. She knew what she was doing.

“Your Highness,” she said.

“Freyja,” I replied coolly, staring down at her. Her eyes were a light and clear blue, so clear they almost had no color.

When Freyja turned to address Stjarna again, I glanced up at Frey. He was half-turned, studying a flower hanging on a stem. He did not seem too interested in the conversation, but then again Frey never seemed interested in anything but his sister. He mostly kept to himself, even when training, though he was frightfully good. I did not like fighting him; his movements were much more vicious and precise than even mine. He also used seidr when fighting, like I sometimes did. Many of the Einherjar disliked him for that reason, but he did not seem to care in the slightest. He acted as if they were below him and did not bother to give heed to their thoughts.

I turned back to look at Freyja and Stjarna now. I did not like the way Freyja was looking at Stjarna, as if Stjarna amused her somehow.

“You must forgive me, sister, but it slips my mind. How long since you’ve come from Vanaheim?” Freyja inquired.

“About three years,” Stjarna replied.

“Three years! Shame on me,” Freyja exclaimed, as if that was a miraculous amount of time. “I knew that Queen Frigga had brought a Vana from home, but I’ve not seen much of you. You serve under her, yes?”

Stjarna nodded.

Freyja smiled. “You danced with His Highness at the banquet a few weeks ago?”

Stjarna nodded and I noticed how her cheeks pinkened. Why did she always grow embarrassed at the thought of others knowing that we were together?

“That was quite a sight,” Freyja laughed, glancing over at me. “I have never seen the prince dance before. Certainly we were all surprised.”

I felt the need to roll my eyes again, but Freyja’s gaze held mine. And then she said, still looking at me, “Did not the Lady Stjarnavetr accompany you on your journey to Midgard recently?”

“Yes,” I answered, somewhat sharply.

But Freyja seemed unfazed by my tartness. “Oh, I would so love to hear of Midgard. I have only ever seen Vanaheim and Asgard. Do you think I might be able to hear of Midgard sometime, Your Highness?”

I stared at her for a moment, annoyed.

“Perhaps some other time,” I said dismissively, my tone indicating I wished for the conversation to be over.

“That is a good idea,” Frey interjected suddenly, turning around. “I think the prince wants us to leave him and his Vana, sister.”

“Oh,” Freyja giggled. “Alright.” She threw a fleeting glance at Stjarna and bid her farewell. She then inclined her head towards me. “Your Highness.”

She held my stare, a small smile on her lips, as she let Frey take her arm. Frey inclined his head to me as they passed. I rolled my eyes—at last—once they were down the path and extended my arm for Stjarna to take, which she did so silently.

I did not feel so much like taking her anymore. I had other things on my mind now.

As we continued on, I could see Stjarna glancing at me every so often.

“Loki?”

“What?”

“I think Freyja likes you.”

Her comment surprised me and I said with a small laugh, “What? Why do you say that?”

“I only suspected. And Frey did not seem to mind when she kissed you.”

I snorted in derision. “Frey cares not who his sister lies with, as long as she continues to fuck him.”

I laughed again when Stjarna wrinkled her nose. She was already drawing me out of my sour mood.

“What, is that not a common thing in Vanaheim?” I joked. “Brothers and sisters lying together?”

“No!” she said, looking horrified. “Even in Vanaheim, their relationship was viewed with disgust. Though they came long before me, their story was well-known.”

“It is here, too, though nobody has the indecency to say anything. Or rather, the decency. But I like them not. They think themselves above the Asgardians, as all Vanir do.”

“All Vanir?”

“Well, perhaps not you. But I have seen plenty of Vanir come through this court and they hold their noses up at us, even though all know they are not as cultured.” Then I laughed. “As evidenced by the nature of Frey and Freyja’s relationship.”

“Do you forget that I am also of the Vanir?” Stjarna said with a small smile.

“But you’re not like them, Stjarna. You’re not like Freyja.”

“But you lay with her?” she blurted.

When I stopped walking suddenly and looked at her, she appeared immediately sorry that she had said that. Almost fearful.

I felt a flare of irritation that she should bring that up, but I said calmly, “I do not need to like her to find her appealing.”

And I did not. Freyja was beautiful, there was no denying it, but there were other things about her that repulsed me.

“Why do you not like her, then?” Stjarna asked quietly when I began walking again. I was taking us back to the palace, as it was nearing time for dinner.

I pressed my lips together. I did not wish to talk of Freyja.

When I was silent, Stjarna pressed me again. She laughed and said, “Loki, it is not as if I am going to tell Gullhár and the others. Please tell me. I am curious.”

And so I admitted, almost hesitantly, “Freyja and my father were, at one time, lovers.”

Stjarna’s mouth nearly fell open. “What? When?”

“It was a long time ago,” I explained. “When Frey and Freyja first came to Asgard as hostages after the Aesir-Vanir war, my father, in his constant pursual of knowledge, wished to learn the magic of the Vanir. He had Freyja to teach him and, in the process, the two of them became… lovers.”

“And yet you slept with her?” Stjarna asked in shock.

I felt another flicker of irritation.

It had not been that long ago when I had lain with her. Not even five years ago.

“I did not know at the time that she had, at one point, been his mistress. It was only afterwards when I learned.”

I briefly thought back to it.

I had always admired Freyja’s beauty, for she had seemed so perfect in every way. The most lovely woman in all of Asgard it was said—the epitome of beauty. Her skin was smooth and nearly white and she was deliciously plump with large breasts and wide hips and thick, wavy hair that reached well below her back.

I had always wanted to have her but, even to me, she had seemed untouchable and out of reach, even though I knew of how loose she really was. But she would not be one of those quick fucks, like one of Mother’s women or a servant. Freyja was haughty and thought herself better than all those around her, even me, but that had made it all the more imperative that I be able to have her.

And when at last the time had come, and I had had her in my bed, I had crawled up her body, thinking that I never had seen such a beautiful creature. I had lost myself in her, believing that there could never be another that could satisfy me like Freyja could. She was perfect in every way and it was as if there was nothing more from a woman I could ever want. I had been unable to think how many other men, and women, I’m sure, had done the same thing as me. But she was just so spectacularly beautiful and, in that moment, had been laid out just for me, those whispered endearments falling from her lips only for me, clouding my judgment and my sense.

And afterwards, when I had told Thor that I had lain with the most beautiful woman in all of the Nine Realms, feeling some sense of superiority, for I knew he had never lain with her, he had laughed. I had meant to make it sound like some sort of conquest and I had been confused as to Thor’s lack of concern. It was then when he had told me, revealed to me that Freyja had been our father’s mistress for a time, though it had been so long ago.

I had felt sick immediately, thinking that I had been where Father had before. Now the memory was soured and it was not with lust that I looked back on it, but with revulsion. To think that Odin had had her before me, and many more times, too. She had got that look on her face beneath him, said his name where she had said mine, whispered it like some temptress into my ear.

“Do Freyja and the Allfather still… lie together?” Stjarna ventured.

“No. Their affair ended long before I was born.”

“How?”

I took a deep breath, not wishing to speak of this anymore.

“She fucked some of those vile little beings from Nidavellir,” I said in disgust.

Stjarna breathed, “The dwarves? What for?”

“Have you ever seen that great, ugly necklace she wears sometimes?”

Stjarna nodded. “Yes.”

“She fucked them, four of them, I believe, for the necklace.”

Stjarna’s lips parted in surprise. “She would lower herself to that for a piece of jewelry?”

“Apparently. Father found out, Thor said, and that ended their relationship immediately.”

“What did the queen do?” Stjarna asked softly.

“Nothing,” I said, my voice rising. “She never does anything! Freyja’s not the only one he’s fucked on the side. Always, Mother holds her tongue and simply endures it. Goes about as if she does not know.”

I hated that, that Father should do that to her. They had been married for a long time and I knew Father loved her, but he still took women on the side and Mother, so regal and so worthy, tolerated it all and never said a word. But it would have demeaned her to have acknowledged all of Father’s trysts for, in the end, she was still his wife and still the queen, always constant in his life while those other women were nothing.

“Does he still take other women to his bed?” Stjarna inquired.

“Yes, though I think not as many as he used to.”

“I am sorry, Loki,” Stjarna whispered.

I looked down at her. “What are you sorry for?”

“I know you care deeply for her.”

I did not reply and neither of us spoke again until we had arrived at the palace.

Stjarna asked me if she might come to me tonight and I told her of course; I had not been able to finish what I had started out in the gardens. I thought she might laugh at that, but she did not. She almost looked sad.

__

Stjarnavetr

That night during dinner, I saw the king and the queen sitting up at the high table and I thought about what Loki had told me.

I had been distraught to learn that the Allfather kept mistresses, however shortly or scarcely. I would never have thought that. It must have been a closely guarded secret, but now I felt such sorrow for Queen Frigga, for she never seemed to be bothered by anything. She always seemed so in control of herself and I had always admired that about her.

I also felt bad for Loki. I knew he loved her and it must have torn him apart that his father would do that to her.

Thinking about Loki now, I sought him out up at the high table and it was then that I noticed Freyja sitting next to him, not where she normally sat. Though it was a bit difficult to see, I could see her touching his arm every so often, saw her laughing and leaning into him. She kept on talking to him as if he was concerned with what she was saying, though I could discern his disinterest even from here.

But I did not feel anger that she was hanging on him like that—Loki had told me that he did not like her.

I knew that Loki and Freyja had lain together before, though it had been before I had come to Asgard. I wondered if she was attempting to bed him again or if she was simply this blatantly seductive with everybody. I had noticed in the gardens how she had pressed up against him—in front of me, no less—and how she had held his gaze much longer than necessary. But I could not remember when she had ever shown such interest in him.

I wondered what had suddenly changed.

And as I poked at my food, I could not help but to imagine them together, could not help but to imagine him breathing her name into her skin as he did mine. I wondered uselessly then if they had done it in his bed or hers. I hoped hers. I did not like the idea of him and her having rolled around in his bed where we lay.

And then, inevitably, my thoughts drifted from him bedding Freyja to him bedding other women.

I had not thought of Loki lying with other women recently, though with Freyja’s little display tonight it was difficult for me not to.

I wondered if he had lain with any other women since we had begun lying together. None of the other handmaidens had been suddenly dismissed, but that did not necessarily mean anything. The handmaidens were not the only ones in the palace that Loki could have without me knowing.

But then, I thought with some sense of sadness, I knew that it was inevitable when Loki should take another to his bed. I was not ignorant. I knew that once the heat of our passion cooled, Loki would find pleasure somewhere else. It had been like that with Valdrlund. He had not been faithful to me, despite coercing out of me my own loyalty, but even then, Valdrlund had not taken many other women to his bed. Not like Loki had used to do.

But did I expect Loki to remain faithful to me? I knew it was not in his nature. As I had said before, I was sure it was difficult to undo five centuries of habit in such a short amount of time. If he even wished to undo the habit.

And it was not as if there was anything I could do when he did eventually decide to seek pleasure elsewhere. Though I was his mistress and I knew he cared for me, that was not enough to keep him from straying from me. Even if Loki did remain loyal to me in the time that I was his mistress, what would happen to me once he eventually brushed me aside, for surely he would, when he tired of me and decided to take up his old habits?

The thought of him taking other women to his bed pained me. Though I was only his mistress and nothing more, I very much liked the thought of it only being us, only me that he would have when he sought release.

I had never felt so wanted as I did with Loki and it saddened me to know that one day this all would end.

But now I was working myself into a state. I tried not to think of it anymore. Everything seemed perfectly alright between us and I did not wish to spoil everything with these dark thoughts.

So I did not look up again at the high table and instead anticipated when we would be allowed to go. For some reason, I very much wanted to see Loki tonight.

__

After the queen had retired that night, I went straight to Loki’s chambers.

He was up and waiting for me, as usual, but when he went to kiss me, I stopped him and led him to his bed. He went to get on top of me, but before he could I pushed him onto his back. I climbed top of him and kissed him almost desperately and he seemed somewhat surprised by my vehemence and at my disallowing him to kiss and touch me back.

All these thoughts of him and other women had me wanting him more than ever. I think that perhaps I was trying to show him, let him know without words that I could be enough for him, that I wanted to be enough for him so that he did not need to seek pleasure elsewhere.

I slowly undressed him, kissing and touching him as I went, until he was fully divested of all clothing, and then I moved down his body and knelt between his legs and took him into my mouth.

I used my tongue and fingers on him, brought him higher and higher until he was groaning and teetering on the edge, his breaths coming hard and fast and uneven. Before he could come, though, I withdrew and he collapsed back onto the bed, skin glistening with sweat. After a few moments I started again, causing him to twist and arch, gasp my name when I brought him so close, only to pull away again before he found his release. And then, when I finally let him come, he went rigid on the bed and his body shook and he gasped my name, head thrown back and fingers curled tightly in my hair.

After he was spent and his body lying limp, I rose and crawled up over him. I draped myself on top of him, kissed him lightly on the mouth, and then nestled my face into his neck. He reached up and stroked my hair and turned his face to kiss the side of my head.

After a while, when he had collected himself, he rolled me onto my back and began moving down my body to pleasure me as I had him, but I stopped him and told him I wanted to sleep now. He seemed a little surprised, but did as I asked. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed me once on the forehead and held me close. I buried my face into his chest, arms tucked between us.

Lying here like this, comforted by the warmth of Loki’s body and his arms around me, it was difficult to think that he would ever hold another woman like this, kiss another woman so tenderly as he did me and, somehow, I was able to placate myself.


	28. Part I - Chapter 28

Stjarnavetr

Loki and I were lying in his bed, he on his back and I on my stomach, heads turned towards each other. We had been lying in silence for a while with only the crackling of the fire to break the stillness.

Loki had his eyes closed and I was studying him in the firelight, seeing how the shadows flickered over the contours of his face.

After a moment, I asked, “So what was the topic tonight?”

Loki opened his eyes and stared at me. In the firelight, his eyes were nearly lucent.

“Seidr.”

“Oh,” I said with a small smile. “No longer inquiring about Midgard, are we?”

“No, I think she’s realized it won’t get her anywhere. She’s changed her approach.”

We spoke of Freyja. She was still, every night, sitting next to or near Loki up at the high table. It had been a week since our little encounter in the gardens and her persistence had me slightly worried; it was obvious that she was trying to seduce Loki, making no attempt to hide it, but Loki remained unaffected and even joked about it with me. He thought it was hilarious.

He remarked, “She told me tonight that she would be glad to teach me some things.”

“Are you going to take her up on her offer?” I inquired softly.

Loki raised his eyebrows and then looked up at the ceiling. “Eh, no. I have a feeling her seidr lessons would not require any clothing.” And then he looked pensive. “Now that I think of it, Stjarna, perhaps your seidr lessons should not require any clothing—”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, please.”

“I do need to tell Frey, though, to control his sister. At least keep her occupied. Obviously he’s not doing such a good job if she’s coming after me.”

“Loki!” I cried, appalled.

He only laughed and responded, “She must realize that I don’t want her. I don’t know what it is, either. She’s never before shown an interest in me. I practically had to beg her last time.” Suddenly, his eyes widened and he grinned and looked over at me. “Ah!” he said, as if he had come to some sort of momentous conclusion. “She is jealous!”

“Jealous?” I asked. “Of who?”

“Of you.”

I stared at him, unbelieving. “Why would Freyja be jealous of me? I am nothing to her.”

“Oh, but that is not true, Stjarna. I think she’s jealous now because I’ve got you. Freyja loves to be fawned over and I bet she cannot stand the fact that I don’t give a fuck about her.”

I still did not understand how I could compare to Freyja at all, though.

Loki said, “I do know for a fact that it drives her insane that Thor has never before tried to fuck her.”

But I was not listening. I felt odd. I wondered if that was true. Was Freyja jealous of me, that I stood higher in Loki’s affections than she once had? They had only lain together once before and it had been years ago. Had Freyja thought that that would always be enough for her to remain so highly thought of by Loki, despite her past with his father?

Loki went to say something else, presumably about Freyja again, when I cut him off and said quietly, “I do not wish to speak of Freyja anymore.”

“Oh. Alright. Then what shall we talk about?”

I thought for a moment. “What about your portrait? I’ve not heard anything on that in a while.”

Recently Loki had mentioned to me that the queen was beginning the process of having her sons’ portraits painted. but that was all I had heard of it.

“What about it?” Loki asked blandly.

“Do you know when it shall be done?”

“No. Mother’s not hired an artist yet.”

“Are you not excited for it?” I inquired.

“Excited?” Loki chuckled now. “Why would I be excited? It is nothing special.”

“I think it is,” I murmured.

“More amusing than exciting, I’d say,” Loki replied. “It is always funny to watch Thor. He fidgets like a little boy.”

“And do you stand there like a statue?” I laughed, imagining Loki standing still, looking very stiff and very severe.

“Yes. I am an excellent subject. All of the painters have told me so,” he said proudly.

“I can imagine,” I remarked. “I have seen some of your portraits. They are so…”

“Handsome?” he grinned.

“I was going to say… rigid.”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Rigid?”

“Yes. You look so very unhappy in all of them.”

“What, am I supposed to smile?”

“Why do you not?”

“Then I would look like a fool,” he stated.

“Like Thor?”

He smiled thinly. “Like Thor.”

I had seen some of Thor’s portraits, as well. He was indeed smiling in all of them.

And then Loki asked, turning onto his side and propping his head up on his arm, “Stjarna, have you ever had your portrait painted?”

“Yes,” I answered quietly. “Many, in fact. My father would paint me when I was a little girl. He did it for the practice. He’d sit me outside on a bench in our little garden, out in the sunlight. He’d have me hold some flowers, or put them in my hair. He very much liked painting my hair.”

Loki reached over and lifted up a lock of my hair and ran it between his fingers. “It is very beautiful in the sunlight,” he granted.

When I was quiet, merely looking at him, Loki said, “Do you miss him? Your father?”

“Yes,” I whispered, my eyes wandering down and coming to rest on the edge of the pillow.

I had thought often of my father, who had been the royal court painter of Vanaheim. I had not seen him in years and I had often wondered if he ever knew why his daughter had been sent away, if he ever knew that I was alright. The circumstances of my banishment would have been kept quiet, though. It would have been an embarrassment to Aldregimildr and his son.

And then Loki’s voice, so soft. “I am sorry, Stjarna.”

My eyes flickered up to his.

“It cannot be helped,” I said quietly. “It is all past.”

After a moment, Loki reached over and pulled me towards him. He kissed me on my forehead. I curled into him, grateful for his arms around me.

I could always fall into sleep with him holding me like this.

__

A little over a month later, I opened Loki’s door and slipped inside.

I had not stayed with him the night previous since this morning was our seidr lesson. Sometimes on the nights before our lessons, I would not stay with him, knowing that if I did he would try his best to keep me in bed and insist we conduct the lesson naked.

I was surprised to see Loki waiting for me and fully dressed—not just in his pants.

Before I could sit down at his table, though, he stopped me.

“What is wrong?” I asked.

“Nothing, Stjarna. Why do you always assume something is wrong?”

But he was grinning so widely that I was sure he was planning something.

“We’re not going to do seidr this morning,” he stated.

“What? Why?” I demanded.

He knew that I disliked it when he tried to distract me. Sometimes he could, when he kissed my neck or touched me in a certain way, but I was mostly able to resist him those mornings.

“We’re going for a walk.”

“A walk?” I sighed in exasperation. I looked down at the book I had brought. I had been going to teach him a new spell today.

“Oh, do not look so sour,” he chided, taking the book from my hands and setting it on the table.

He took my arm and we left his chambers and began walking.

I noticed immediately that we were not going to be aimlessly roving this morning; Loki was taking me somewhere.

“Where are we going?” I questioned.

“You will see.”

“We’re not going down to the city, are we?”

“No.”

“Loki, why can we not—”

“Will you just be patient?” he snapped.

I sighed and pressed my lips together, somewhat in annoyance, but did not say anything else.

Within a few minutes, though, I realized where Loki was taking me.

The palace had many courtyards, but there was one in particular that Loki and I liked. It was smaller than many of the others and more heavily shaded. The walls were of rough stone and coated in vines and dotted with flowers.

Loki and I would often sit here and usually I liked it, but we were supposed to be doing seidr and I was irritated that he should brush off his lesson like this.

“You’re skipping our seidr lesson so we may sit in the courtyard?” I asked crossly.

“No,” was all he said.

Soon we came to the entrance of the courtyard and stood under the stone arch.

I went to roll my eyes, about to demand he take me back to his rooms, but the words died in my throat when I caught sight of a man standing near the back edge of the courtyard, his back facing us. He was wearing a silver robe, in the fashion of Vanaheim, and was running his fingers lightly over the petals of a flower hanging off of the wall.

I barely felt Loki release my hand, barely registered his fading footsteps.

I stood there, unable to tear my eyes away from the man.

And then, as if realizing he was no longer alone, the man turned and looked at me.

I felt a sliver of shock go through my body when our eyes met.

He appeared older than when I had last seen him. He did not stand as straight; his hair was a bit thinner and streaked with grey. His beard was not as full, his lips were slack, and his eyes, which were the same color as mine, seemed duller.

We stared at one another.

He said, so quietly I barely heard, “Stjarna?”

I swallowed hard, staring at him.

He and Loki were the only ones to ever have called me Stjarna.

And then I was running, my feet flying over the stones, tears already blurring my vision. I managed to stop myself right before I slammed into him. He opened his arms for me and I fell into them and began weeping.

“Father,” I cried, burying my face into his chest. He wrapped his arms around me and pressed his cheek to the top of my head. He held me for a long moment until I pulled back and looked up at him. He took my face in his hands and kissed my forehead and cheeks before embracing me again, murmuring my name.

When we had at last collected ourselves, we sat on one of the stone benches nearby. I held his hand tightly and sat as closely as possible to him.

Only once did I glance around to see if Loki had remained behind, but I did not see him anywhere.

I turned back to my father and could not help but to smile, despite his aged appearance. How old he now looked. Had I done that? Had my banishment aged him like that? I nearly wanted to cry to think of how he must have suffered, for I knew he loved me.

“Oh, my daughter,” he said, kissing my temple. “I did not know, they did not tell me what had happened…”

“I am alright, Father,” I assured him. “I am alright.”

“But what happened, Stjarna?” he asked, his eyes full of concern. “They would not tell me, only that you had been banished.”

I felt sorrow for him. I imagined him inquiring after me one day, only to be told that I had been suddenly exiled, that he should probably never see his only daughter ever again, never to know why.

I hesitated. “Valdrlund… he grew tired of me, as he did with all of his… others.”

“But exile? No, Stjarna, tell me.”

“Father, that is what happened,” I replied, trying to mask the tremble in my voice. “I was not well received at court. I never was and I suppose he grew tired of me and so I came to Asgard. That is all. Please believe me.”

But he did not. I could see it in his eyes that he knew I was lying. I hated it, but I could not bear to tell him what had been done to me. It would have torn him apart. Better to spare him, I thought sadly.

And then his eyes teared up and he clutched me to him. “I am sorry, Stjarna,” he whispered, his voice thick with tears. “I am so sorry. This is my fault, it was all my fault—”

“No, stop,” I said. I pulled away from him. I wiped the tears off of his cheeks. “Please do not blame yourself, Father. How could you have known?”

He shook his head. “It was my job to protect you, and…”

“But everything is alright now,” I promised him, feeling the stinging of tears in my eyes. “I am alright now.”

He only looked down.

“How is it in Vanaheim?” I asked then, wishing to change the topic. “Are you well? How are things?”

“It is not good, Stjarna,” he answered with a little shake of his head. “The king is very ill. All know that he will die soon. We dread his son’s ascension.”

But I did not wish to hear of Aldregimildr or Valdrlund.

“But what of you, Father?” I queried, resting my head against his shoulder. “Do you fare well? Are you still at the palace?”

“No. It was soon after I found out… of your exile… that I was relieved of my duties as court painter. But I still paint. The work is steady enough, I suppose. And I… I have married again.”

I sat up and looked at him. “Have you?” I asked, feeling a spark of happiness for him, for he would have been completely alone in Vanaheim after my banishment. “How wonderful! Who is it?”

“Do you remember the Lady Konavefr?”

“Yes,” I nodded. Lady Konavefr had lived near us and was a widow of one of Aldregimildr’s courtiers. She had been a great comfort to me when my mother had died. “I am so happy for you.”

“She is with child.”

I felt the tears beginning in my eyes again and I embraced him. I kissed his cheek. “I am so very glad, Father. When is the babe due?”

“Six months.”

I smiled at him, feeling elated. He was not alone anymore.

“But what of you, my daughter? How do you fare in Asgard?”

“I serve under Queen Frigga,” I explained, resting my head on his shoulder again. “I am a handmaiden. She elevated my station. I am Lady Stjarnavetr now.”

“Lady Stjarnavetr,” he repeated, as if tasting the title on his tongue. Though it truly was not much of an elevation, I could hear the smile in his voice.

And then I asked, though I already suspected, “Father, why are you here?”

“I received an invitation from Queen Frigga perhaps a month ago requesting that I come to Asgard and paint her sons’ portraits.”

And suddenly, I realized that this was Loki. Queen Frigga did not know that Andimódr of Vanaheim was my father. Only Loki knew that. He must have spoken to his mother about it.

“Loki did this,” I said without thinking.

“The prince? Yes, he requested that I meet him here this morning to discuss his portrait.” Now he seemed slightly confused. “But he’s not come yet…”

“Loki brought me here, Father. He did this for me.”

“For you?”

And when I heard the surprise in his voice, I felt my insides twist in apprehension.

“You… you are… with… His Highness?” he asked carefully, turning to look at me.

He looked more concerned than anything, but of course he should be concerned for me. I squeezed his hand comfortingly. 

“Yes,” I answered quietly. “I am with Prince Loki.”

“Oh, Stjarnavetr…” he sighed, giving an almost imperceptible shake of his head. I stared at him, terrified that he might be disappointed in me. “We have heard that he is just like Prince Valdrlund—”

“No!” I said, perhaps a little too loudly. He looked up at me in surprise. “It is not like that, Father. Loki is good to me.”

And in that moment, I felt a warmth bloom in my chest for Loki, that he had done this for me. Obviously, he did not need to have a Vanr brought from Vanaheim for his portrait to be made. There were plenty of Asgardian artists to choose from, but Loki had done this for me.

“Then you are happy here?” Father inquired.

“Yes,” I responded with a little smile. “I am happy.”

__

We sat in the courtyard for hours. I never let go of his hand and we talked of everything.

He told me more of Lady Konavefr and I told him of my life here in Asgard, though I steered away from talking about Loki. Even though I had assured my father that Loki was good to me, he still seemed unsure on what to think.

And all through our conversation, I thought much on how hard it must have been on him after my banishment. He must have wondered, must have lamented, never really knowing what had happened to me. But it all seemed alright now.

He knew I was happy and I knew he was, too.

Too soon, though, he had to go. He told me that the Allfather had requested to meet with him.

I embraced him after we stood, feeling the tears coming again, even though I knew I would see him again soon.

I held tightly onto him. “I love you, Father.”

“And I love you, Stjarna,” he said, kissing the top of my head. “How I have missed you.”

I reluctantly let him go and we parted ways.

I knew Loki would be in his other lessons right now, seeing as it was well past when our seidr lesson would have ended, and so I went to the queen’s chambers. I sat impatiently with the other handmaidens for the rest of the afternoon until it came time to eat.

It was during dinner when I saw my father next; he was seated up at the high table.

Loki had told me once that foreigners were always set up there so the Allfather could question them or listen to the news of the other realms.

I could not tear my eyes away from him; he was dressed so differently from the other Aesir. He wore that silver robe of his while the other men wore leather pants and surcoats and even light armor. He looked so old and soft and grey sitting among them all, but he did not appear to be uncomfortable.

I hoped desperately that Loki was not making a fool of himself. I would have hated for my father to think badly of him, despite what we had heard of the youngest prince of Asgard in Vanaheim. But from what I could see, it looked like Loki was behaving himself.

After dinner had ended, I accompanied the queen to her chambers so she could prepare to retire. Once we were dismissed, I went immediately to Loki’s rooms.

Upon entering, I found him in his bath chamber, drawing a bath.

“Loki,” I said, coming up behind him.

He turned around and I wrapped my arms around his torso. He embraced me back.

“Is something the matter?” he asked when I pulled away and he saw my eyes brimming with tears.

“No, no,” I assured him. “I only wished to thank you.”

Now he smiled.

I took his face in my hands and kissed him on the mouth. “Thank you, Loki,” I whispered against his lips. “Thank you for bringing him here for me.” When I pulled back, I asked softly, “Why did you do it?”

He looked surprised. “You’ve spoken of your father before. I know you miss him. It was no trouble.”

I leaned into him and pressed my cheek to his chest. “You are so good to me, Loki.”

And then he said, “Would you like to sit in on my portrait?”

I looked up at him. “You mean sit in the room with you and him?”

“Yes.”

I could not help but to smile. “I would very much like that. When?”

“Oh, it shall not be for another week or so, I suspect.”

I embraced him again, feeling as if my heart were about to burst from happiness. 

“Thank you, Loki,” I murmured.

__

About a week later, as Loki had said, my father began on his portrait.

I had spent the night before with Loki and so we came into the room together.

I saw my father’s things set up, his paints and his brushes, the place where Loki would stand, and a chair for me behind my father.

It all felt too familiar. I remembered sitting there while my father painted Valdrlund and I felt a tightness in my chest, but that had been so long ago and I told myself that it was all past.

I tried not to see my father’s expression when I came in with Loki, but I bid him a good morning and kissed his cheek. I sat behind him so as not to distract him, as he was still here in Asgard on official business, but I did not mind.

I had not seen him in so long and I knew that I would not grow bored just watching. But in looking at him, I kept thinking that soon he would be gone and I might never see him again like this. I tried to push these thoughts away, though. For now, for this moment, he was here and everything was good.

Occasionally, I would manage to tear my eyes away from my father and look at Loki.

I thought he looked so handsome, dressed as he was in his ceremonial armor. Though he was not built like Thor, who was both slightly taller and more heavily built, Loki still possessed an incredible attractiveness, I thought. He looked so imposing and yet I could not help but to grin at him.

When I looked at him and he noticed, he tried to keep his face straight—not to look like a fool, as he had said—but when I smiled at him, he had to fight to keep his expression stoic. Once or twice, Father had to tell him to be still or stop smiling. I knew that irritated Loki, for his lips would barely be curled up at the corners, but I thought it all so amusing.

Loki would glare at me when my father reprimanded him. I knew he prided himself on being rather emotionless around others.

Afterwards, when Father was done for the day, Loki would look at the progress. Queen Frigga would also occasionally drop in to see how things were moving along. She was delighted with my father’s work and surprised as well to learn that Andimódr was my father.

She had asked one day why I was here, for truly I had no business sitting in with Loki, but Father told her, “Stjarna is my daughter.”

The queen had seemed surprised, but when she smiled, I suppose it was because she realized now why Loki had asked for Andimódr specifically to come from Vanaheim.

__

One night, perhaps a week after Loki’s portrait had begun, we were lying in his bed on our sides, facing each other.

He was reproaching me for making him smile.

“You cannot keep doing that,” he said seriously. “Andimódr keeps telling me to stop smiling and fidgeting.”

“I am sorry,” I replied with a small grin.

“Do you know how difficult it is to sit still, or not twitch, when you’re sitting there, looking so delicious, and I’ve got all these obscene thoughts running through my head? And with your father standing there, no less.”

I only laughed, though his expression was stern. “But I cannot help it, Loki. You are so handsome.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Nevertheless, you must stop smiling at me.”

I reached over and grabbed one of the laces hanging loosely from the open collar of his tunic. I twisted it around my finger. “But I like seeing you twitch.”

Loki smiled at me without showing his teeth. He reached over and splayed his fingers on my hip. Slowly, he moved his hand to my lower back and pulled me towards him until our fronts were pressed together. He kissed me on my nose and murmured, “You’re not going to stop, are you?”

“No.”

“I did not think so,” he laughed as he rolled over and on top of me, straddling my hips.

He lowered his face and placed a gentle kiss on my lips. I brought my hands up and combed my fingers through his soft hair, holding him still as I deepened the kiss. Our tongues moved lazily against one other as we explored each other’s mouths and, after a moment, Loki broke the kiss and began running his lips over and under my jaw.

“Loki,” I said breathlessly. He lifted his head and looked down at me. I pulled his face to mine and pressed my forehead to his. “Thank you, Loki,” I breathed, closing my eyes.

He smiled and whispered, “You’re welcome.”

__

I was so happy.

In the mornings upon waking, I would embrace Loki and kiss him and thank him. I probably began to annoy him with my incessant stream of thanks, but I could not help it and he never acted as if it bothered him.

For the next month, I sat with Loki and my father, just watching and never growing bored.

Afterwards, when my father was finished for the day, he and I would walk around the palace grounds. Sometimes, I took him down into the city, as Loki did with me, and we would spend the day together. Even when he finished Loki’s portrait and began on Thor’s (I did not sit in on Thor’s portrait) we still would spend the day together when he had finished.

Loki told me that I seemed much happier and I felt it.

But as the weeks passed and the time for my father’s departure neared, the days of contentment and the nights of laughing and teasing slowly gave way to solemnity and weeping.

Loki would try to comfort me, but it did not help much.

“He’s married again,” I told Loki one night, lying across the bed with my head in his lap. He was curling my hair in his fingers absentmindedly, his other hand resting on my stomach.

“Yes, you’ve told me,” Loki responded softly.

“She is with child,” I said sadly.

“But is that not a good thing?”

“Yes, it is wonderful,” I whispered.

Loki did not understand why I was so upset. When I had told him all of this a few weeks earlier, I had seemed so much happier about it all. He said so.

“He’s got a new family,” I murmured.

Loki was quiet. I still don’t think he understood.

“He’s got a new wife and soon a son. Or another daughter.”

It was as if my father was beginning anew and I was still here with these scars and these memories. After this, I would probably never see him again. He would go back home—back to Vanaheim—and be there with his new wife, whom I had known in my childhood and knew to be a wonderful woman, and his new family, and I would still be here.

I did not say it—would never say it—but Loki would not always be enough.

This thing that we had was temporary, I knew, no matter how much I might have wished for something more.

One day, when all of this was over, I would be alone again with only my memories to keep me company. Those memories of Vanaheim and Valdrlund, these memories of Asgard and of Loki. And they would be all I had.

I knew I would never marry, never have a family here, for I was broken in the way that made a wife useful. I would always be alone. Loki was not my family and he would obviously never be my husband and we would never have children. Oh, but that thought was foolish, too ridiculous to even give thought to—and yet I had thought of it before, but never spoken of it.

And I began crying softly and Loki held me, thinking it was because my father had wed again, but I could not tell him even this, these worries that he would not be able to alleviate, these thoughts he would not be able to soothe, these questions that he would have no answer for.

__

Much too soon, it came time for my father to return to Vanaheim.

I accompanied him out to Bifröst that day, trying my best not to cry. I would not want him to see me in such a state before his return, but he could see my reddened eyes, how every so often I would wipe the tears from my eyes.

And when he embraced me one last time, I could no longer hold back and I began crying. I held onto him when he tried to move away. I begged him to stay for just a little longer, told him that I loved him so. He held me a bit longer, for it was all he could do, and kissed me on my cheeks. He told me that he loved me and that he would see me again soon, but we both knew better.

I watched on, a sob rising in my throat, as Heimdall opened Bifröst and my father disappeared through the doorway.

I stood there for a long time, staring at nothing, thinking on everything, feeling Heimdall standing there watching me.

At last, I turned around. I thanked Heimdall and he inclined his head to me.

I returned to the palace and went not to Loki’s chambers, but to mine.

I wished to be alone.

I lay on my bed and I cried until I could not cry anymore.

Much later, when I had been lying there for hours, drifting in and out of sleep, I heard my door open. I did not turn over to look, but soon I felt Loki climb into my bed with me. He pulled me into his arms and kissed me and held me until I fell asleep.


	29. Part I - Chapter 29

Loki

I was lying on my stomach, face buried in my pillow, when I was roused from sleep by a light tickling on my bare back. At first I ignored it, but then I felt a pressure on the back of my neck, moving around and under my jaw.

And then Stjarna’s hair tumbled down over her shoulders and fell onto my face. She giggled softly and continued to kiss me, pressing against my back. I opened my eyes when she splayed her hand on my side and slipped it beneath me, down until her fingers grazed the hair below my navel.

I caught her wrist and laughed quietly into my pillow.

Stjarna smiled against my skin and whispered, “Good morning.”

I lifted my head up and rolled over onto my back, perceiving that it was still dark outside. Stjarna adjusted herself so she was lying against me on her side, hand resting on my chest.

I had noticed that Stjarna seemed much more loving these past weeks, since her father had left Asgard. At first she had been very gloomy, understandably, but now she was as cheery as ever, which I very much liked. I think she was appreciative of me for having brought her father from Vanaheim, for however brief a time he had been here.

“Can we go down to the city today?” she inquired, lightly running her fingers over the sparse hair on my chest.

I stared up at the ceiling, still trying to wake up.

“I don’t think so,” I said with some hesitation. “As much as I would like to, I’ve taken so many days off recently. I don’t think Mother would be too pleased with my neglecting my lessons like this.”

Stjarna sighed, but gave a little nod. “Perhaps another time, then.” But then she seemed to perk up. “Well, it is still early. Would you mind if I bathed here this morning?”

I laughed. “No.”

She smiled and rolled away from me, but grabbed my hand as she went to slide out of the bed. “Would you like to join me, Loki?” she asked softly.

I quickly went to follow her and she laughed and gently pulled me with her, leading me to my bath chamber.

__

Two hours later, I was lounging naked on my bed. I watched as Stjarna dressed into her gown from the day before, her long hair still hanging heavy and damp from our bath, which had taken an obscene, yet incredibly pleasing, amount of time.

She would still have to go back to her own chambers to dress into fresh clothes before heading to Mother’s chambers, but she had told me she did not mind.

“Perhaps I ought to have some of your dresses in here, Stjarna,” I said jokingly.

“Should I also try to fit your ceremonial armor into my wardrobe for when you sleep in my chambers?” she laughed, giving a handful of her thick hair a light shake.

“No, I don’t think it’d fit.”

“Neither do I,” she smiled.

Once Stjarna looked presentable, she came over to the bed and leaned over to kiss me.

“You’d better get ready or you’ll be late for training,” she chided before kissing me.

“Yes, yes,” I dismissed.

And then she whispered against my lips, “May I come to you tonight?”

“Yes, but do not make me wait like you did last night,” I said, fighting back a smile as she rose up and looked down at me.

“I will try my best, Prince.” She kissed me once more and whispered, “Have a good day, Loki.”

After Stjarna had gone, I lay in my bed for a few more minutes, thinking on how I should have skipped my duties for the day and taken her down into the city like she had wanted. That would have been infinitely more interesting than sparring with and losing to Thor.

I groaned, got out of my bed, and went to my wardrobe to get dressed. I pulled out a pair of pants and as soon as I had them pulled up, there came a light knocking on my door, so quiet I barely heard it. I grabbed one of my tunics out of my wardrobe, wondering if Stjarna had forgotten something.

I thought it odd that she should knock, but went to the door and opened it, my tunic still clutched in my fingers and my pants still unlaced, for I had not expected anybody but Stjarna, since she had only left minutes ago.

But when I opened the door, it was not Stjarna standing there, but Freyja.

I stared at her.

“Your Highness!” she said brightly, her eyes immediately flickering down to my state of half-undress.

“What do you want?” I demanded abruptly, not bothering to cover up. After all, these were my chambers.

Freyja looked back up at me. “Have I not been saying, Your Highness, that I wished to hear of Midgard?”

I pressed my lips together in irritation.

When her beleaguering me about Midgard had not gotten her anywhere, she had changed tactics and tried to talk to me about seidr. But when that did not work either, she had switched back to Midgard and it had been months and still she was pestering me though, admittedly, the fervor with which she had been pursuing me had lessened a bit this past month.

And yet I was dangerously close to telling her to fuck off.

“May I come in, please?” she asked when I did not say anything.

“I must be going soon,” I said tersely.

In fact, I was already late for training.

“Surely it will not take long?” she commented, brushing past me.

I clenched my jaw in annoyance and turned to watch as she went straight to my couch, which was sitting against the wall near the table. She turned around, sat down, and looked at me expectantly.

I nearly slammed the door shut and jerked my tunic on, incredibly aggravated. I angrily laced my pants up, all while Freyja watched with a stupid little smile playing at the edge of her lips.

I was not ignorant. I knew what she was doing.

I walked across the room and stood in front of her. “Get out. I have to go.”

She raised her eyebrows. “But Your Highness, I have been asking to hear of Midgard for such a long time now. If only you will tell me, I will leave. I promise.”

And then she reached out and took my hand and pulled me down next to her. She turned to look at me, smiling.

“What are humans like?” she asked.

I stared at her for a long moment, debating on whether to forcibly remove her from my chambers. But then she might start screaming and that would certainly be a headache. So I said impatiently, “They are no different from you or me. Though they die much sooner.”

When Freyja laughed, I wanted to roll my eyes. Her barely disguised coquettishness greatly annoyed me.

“And what of their cities? Are they as large or magnificent as those here, or in Vanaheim?”

“Their largest cities are comparable, I suppose, though the grandeur of Asgard cannot be matched.”

She laughed again. “Of course you would say that.”

I scoffed. “I say it because it is true. Your capital is naught but a glorified village.”

I was pleased to see a flicker of anger in Freyja’s eyes, but she quickly composed herself. She questioned, “Why must you be so unkind to me?”

“You irritate me,” I said bluntly, holding her gaze.

And then she smiled and tilted her head. “But I did not always irritate you, did I, Loki?”

I stared levelly at her, almost curious as to what she was going to say next.

“There was a time when you wanted me,” she murmured, leaning slightly towards me.

“Yes. Once,” I responded brusquely.

She smiled thinly at me and then reached over and began drawing circles on the top of my leg with the tip of her finger. 

“Do you remember, Loki?” she murmured almost absentmindedly, watching the idle movements of her finger.

I stared down at her hand.

I certainly did remember, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to. But I could see it all again, almost feel it—her on her knees in front of me and I with my back against the wall, head lifted up and fingers knotted in her hair; her arching beneath me, crying my name out over and over as I drove into her; her sitting astride me, riding me until I was hardly able to think for how good it had all felt.

And now I cursed the heat I could feel rising in my body.

Slowly Freyja’s hand came to a stop and she settled it on my leg, close to where my own hand sat on my upper thigh.

“Or have you already forgotten?” she asked, sounding injured.

“No,” I said, my voice much more rough than I had intended.

I barely caught the way the corner of her lip twitched upwards in a smile.

“I have so missed you, Loki,” she whispered, looking up at me.

I wanted to scoff—she had to be lying—but I could not look away from her.

Slowly she moved her hand up my leg until her fingers grazed over mine. She took my hand in hers and moved it up to her breast. Instinctively I felt it; it was soft and round and larger than Stjarna’s.

And as soon as I went to pull my hand away, having suddenly thought of Stjarna, Freyja leaned over, braced her hand on top of my other leg, and pulled herself up and over until she was straddling me.

“Freyja,” I warned, but my voice was not nearly forceful enough.

The heat in my body was becoming uncomfortable now; I could feel a stirring between my legs at her proximity, how soft she felt against me, how it was only the leather of my pants separating her from me. I swallowed hard—surely she could feel me pressing against her, as cursedly aroused as I already was.

I tried to imagine her and my father, tried to imagine her beneath him with her legs wrapped around him, but it wasn’t enough to cause this fire to die.

And now my breaths came faster when, still holding my hand to her breast, she lifted up on her knees and, with her other hand, began pulling her dress up. She stared at me the entire time, a small smile on her lips, and I up at her, as she guided my hand down from her breast, over her soft belly, until my fingers brushed across the pale blonde curls between her legs. And I knew I should have, but I did not stop her, did not push her off of me and get up. Instead I looked down and let her direct my hand between her legs and when I felt how warm she was, how wet she already was, she did not need to guide me anymore.

I stroked her, feeling her sticky heat coating my fingers, and looked up at her face and saw how she closed her eyes and tilted her head back, lips parted to reveal pearly teeth—I could not tear my eyes away from her. She put her other hand on my shoulder to steady herself as I touched her.

When I let a finger slip inside her, she let out a little moan and suddenly leaned forward. She kept one hand on my shoulder and the other she put on the back of my head, tangled her fingers in my hair and pulled my head back and up so she could kiss me. She opened her mouth and pushed her tongue past my lips. I responded to her kiss, thinking on how wonderful she tasted, even as I added another finger and began to draw them in and out of her.

She took my bottom lip between her teeth and bit down and I felt delicious pain. And then she was sucking on it, running her tongue over it and I was pushing my fingers deeper into her until she was moaning into my mouth and pushing down on my hand.

When she broke the kiss and sat back up, holding onto both of my shoulders now, eyes still closed and lips still parted, I could not help but to ruminate on how beautiful she was—there was no denying it, anyway—how full her lips were, how delicious the swell of her large breasts beneath her dress. But how much more beautiful she was with that look on her face.

And in the back of my mind, I knew she was doing this on purpose, for only the reason to tempt me. I knew how she was. I knew she was vindictive and cunning and bored all the time, knew she was doing this because I had not responded to her in the gardens as she had expected. Where once I had been completely taken with her, now I could have cared less and that burned her, but now here she was on top of me and I was the one burning. But in that moment, I did not care. All I cared about was the slick heat between her legs, how slippery she already was, all for me, just like last time, and the fire between my legs.

Freyja opened her eyes now and looked down at me. She let go of one of my shoulders and ran her hand down my chest and over my stomach until she came to the spot between my legs. She began slowly rubbing my cock through my pants and I let out a groan and could not help but to lift my hips into her touch.

I heard her laugh quietly and then she reached down with her other hand and grabbed my wrist. She lifted my hand and I could see the slickness of her desire glistening on my fingers. I stared up at her, and she down at me, as she continued rubbing me and simultaneously took each one of my fingers into her mouth, caressed them with her tongue, scraped them with her teeth and sucked each one clean.

I watched her, almost in fascination, and when she was done and leaned forward once again to kiss me, I eagerly opened my mouth and licked her lips. I closed my eyes and pushed my tongue past her teeth and ran it through her mouth, tasting her.

My entire body was on fire now, burning with this need to be inside her, and she was still touching me and it was almost painful.

And then she whispered against my lips, “Don’t you want me again, Loki?”

Before she could get another word out, I opened my eyes and wrapped one arm around her waist. I roughly pushed her sideways and she nearly fell off of me onto her back onto the couch. She made a little gasping sound, but I was already moving to kneel between her legs, feeling as if I was going to burst right there. I roughly pushed her dress up and out of the way, thinking irritably that there was too much fabric, why was there always so much fabric to these damned skirts? But then they were up around her waist and I nearly threw her legs apart and she was bared to me and I could detect her sweet and heady fragrance lingering in the air, could still taste it in my mouth, and I was lost then.

I grabbed the back of the couch for support as I reached down and began hastily yanking at the laces of my pants. I pushed them down over my hips with one hand, braced one foot on the floor and had my other leg bent beneath me, and quickly positioned myself to enter her. I looked up at her face, saw her mass of pale hair bunched under her head and spilling off the side of the couch and onto the floor. She was gazing up at me, breaths coming quickly.

“Loki,” she said breathlessly, just as I pushed hard into her in one stroke and buried myself fully in her.

She gasped loudly and arched up off the couch before closing her eyes and rolling her head to the side, a small smile on her lips. I lifted my head and closed my eyes, breaths coming heavily.

I’d nearly forgotten, it seemed, the feel of another woman under me, even if it was Freyja. I held still, just relishing the sensation of being inside her. It felt different, somehow, than when I lay with Stjarna. Not better, necessarily, but just different, though it was a good kind of different—an exciting kind of different.

I rolled my hips against her, unable to stay still for another moment, and she moaned. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I figured she was faking it, but I could not be bothered to care in that moment. I was too far gone, everything was already too far gone.

As I began moving above her, I lowered my head and opened my eyes and looked down at her. Her eyes were still closed and her head was tilted back. Wanting to kiss her suddenly, I moved my hand from the back of the couch. I leaned down, pausing momentarily in my movements, and pressed against her and kissed her hard, opening her mouth with mine. She responded enthusiastically, reaching up to run her fingers through my hair.

I rose up, then, breathless, and braced my hands on either side of her and began thrusting into her. She opened her eyes and held onto my arms, gasping every time I buried myself in her, and I was staring into her eyes, that colorless blue, feeling this nearly unbearable tightness in my body already screaming for relief.

And while I was trying to focus on getting there as quickly as possible, I could not block out Freyja’s incessant gasping and panting. Freyja’s gasps sounded similar to Stjarna’s, but I did not take pleasure in them as I did Stjarna’s. They were almost annoying, but I was so close to bursting already and it was not as if I was trying to hold off like I did with Stjarna, when I waited until she had come. I did not care if Freyja reached that peak with me; I was not as enchanted with her as I had been last time and now I was only concerned with this heat in my body. This was merely something physical—only a quick release.

But there was something here, something that I did not feel when I lay with Stjarna. It was a sort of thrill, sitting deep in my gut, that I should be doing this without her knowing. It was almost… exciting. The wrongness of it seemed to heighten every sensation and a sudden urge came over me and I stopped moving above Freyja and began roughly pulling at the front of her dress.

Under my nearly frantic persistence, the fabric gave easily—had she loosened the laces on her back beforehand?—and as I yanked at it, some of the little gems that had been sewn into the fabric came off and I could hear them, far away in my mind, popping and rolling on the stone floor. But I could have cared less; now I had managed to pull her dress down over her pale shoulders and below her breasts.

“Loki!” Freyja gasped, her hands going to clutch at mine, but I grabbed her wrists and roughly pinned them next to her head.

I paused, staring down at her, our faces so close and our breaths coming quickly.

Oh, I knew this was wrong, but I could not stop myself. She felt so wonderful around me, looked so beautiful spread out beneath me—I just could not stop.

I kissed her again, briefly sucked on her bottom lip, before I moved down to her newly exposed breasts. She had not been wearing an underlayer as Stjarna often did. I suspected Freyja had forgone this particular piece of clothing in anticipation of this exact situation, but I didn’t care—I’m glad she had.

I took one of her nipples into my mouth and could hear her panting as I scraped my teeth across her sensitive flesh and wet the soft pink skin with my tongue. After a moment, I moved to her other breast. She began trying to twist beneath me, kept saying my name, as if urging me to continue fucking her into the couch.

I released her breast and rose up and started thrusting into her again, harder this time, driving my hips forward and causing her to move backwards on the couch, even with my still holding her wrists down.

Despite her annoying little pants, which once I had eaten up, I was coming fast upon my release. I did not try to prolong it for her pleasure or even mine. My entire body was burning and some small part of me now wanted this over as quickly as possible.

And not moments later, I felt the beginnings of it boiling in my gut and my hips stuttered and I let go of her wrists and leaned down. I grabbed a fistful of her hair and slipped my other arm beneath hers and dug my fingers into the back of her shoulder. I buried my face in between her neck and shoulder and my entire body stiffened, almost painfully, and I pushed further into her, pushed her down hard into the couch.

Gods, it was so much better than I would have anticipated.

I nearly cried out and groaned loudly into Freyja’s skin, overwhelmed by the pleasure surging through me, the amazing feeling of my heat going into her body. And as soon as I felt the waves beginning to die, I managed to slowly thrust into her twice more and I came again, though not as hard as the first time. Yet I clutched her body tightly to me, needing to hold onto something. And then I shivered and my body went slack and I settled onto her, feeling weak. I pressed my face into the cushion beneath her head, my breaths coming hard and fast and my heart pounding in my chest.

And Freyja only lay there beneath me and lightly stroked my side, as if patiently waiting for me to collect myself.

After a few minutes, I slowly raised my head and lifted up on my forearms. Freyja lifted her head and kissed me deeply. I kissed her back, almost lethargically, and then pulled away and out of her. I nearly stumbled backwards off of the couch, but caught myself and reached down to adjust myself and lace my pants back up.

When I looked up, Freyja was just finishing closing her dress, arms reaching behind her to retighten the laces. When she was finished, she looked up at me and I was surprised at how unruffled she appeared. Her hair was slightly disheveled and her dress somewhat rumpled but, other than that, she looked pristine as always. The only way I could have been able to tell that anything had just happened was the rosy flush of her normally pale cheeks, while I was covered in a fine sheen of sweat and my own hair sticking up and tangled from her having mussed it.

“May I?” Freyja inquired, motioning towards my bedchamber.

I gave a terse little nod and turned around and nearly collapsed into the nearest chair by my table.

Freyja stood up and walked primly into my bedchamber and subsequently into my bath chamber. She shut the door behind her and I let out a heavy breath. I suspected that she was preening herself now, cleaning me off of her and performing that spell on herself to ensure that I did not get her with child. Surely she knew that spell, being a Vana and what with how many men she fucked.

I rested my head against the back of the chair and closed my eyes and sat there for a few minutes.

And then suddenly, I opened my eyes and turned my head to look at the couch, where I saw the evidence of my and Freyja’s little tryst soaked and glistening on the fabric.

Immediately, my guts clenched.

I thought of Stjarna.

Just then, I heard my bath chamber door open and Freyja reemerged from my bedchamber, looking even more immaculate than before. She came over to me, smiling all the while. I did not like her smiling like that.

She stood beside me and leaned over and kissed me on the mouth. I did not respond as vehemently as before, though I did not push her away. But I did not feel anything in the kiss—did not feel anything for her. I had never felt anything but lust for Freyja, or any of those other women that I had fucked. Not like I did with Stjarna.

“Thank you for telling me of Midgard,” Freyja said graciously as she pulled away. She smiled at me once more before turning to leave. As soon as the door was shut, I got up out of the chair and, using my seidr, quickly collected all of the little gemstones that had come off of Freyja’s bodice. I threw them away—I highly doubted that she would miss them.

I went back to the couch and looked down and saw with relief that I could no longer discern the spot that Freyja and I had soaked into the couch.

__

That night during dinner, I could see Freyja sitting farther down the high table in her normal place. Though technically Frey and Freyja were hostages of Asgard, they were treated as honored guests and so sat up at the high table every night, though far from the middle, which is where I sat with Thor near Mother and Father—and where Freyja had been sitting these past couple of months most nights, displacing some of the others.

I had noticed that she had not spared one glance in my direction tonight. Not that I cared. I knew what she had done and what I had done and there was no taking it back, but I was not sure I would have taken it back even if I had been given the chance.

I had been thinking of Freyja all day, though it had not been with lust or longing, but disgust. Disgust at her for having tempted me, disgust at myself for having given into that temptation so easily when all along I had known what she was doing—disgust at myself for having enjoyed it.

And gods, how I had enjoyed it.

It had been so long since I had lain with another woman since Stjarna and it had almost been liberating. I know I should have been ashamed, should have felt worse than what I did, but I did not. While I loved Stjarna’s body and nearly everything about her, there had been something with Freyja—and I suspect that would also be with other women—that I had felt that I did not feel when I lay with Stjarna.

I had been with Stjarna for nearly a year now and in that time had not lain with another woman. But it was not as if I had done it on purpose. I had just been so taken with her that I had not even thought about fucking another woman. I simply did not feel the need to.

But this, lying with Freyja this morning, seemed to have awakened in me this want. I had very much enjoyed that rush that I had felt when fucking her; it had made it all the better and I had reveled in the wrongness of it. I wondered if I would be averse to chasing that feeling again. I highly doubted it.

And now I picked Stjarna out, sitting amongst all of Mother’s women. I saw her laughing and I almost felt guilty because I hardly felt anything. I should have been remorseful, should have been ashamed of what I had done, but I was not. After all, she was my mistress, wasn’t she? I did not answer to her.

And yet, I still felt trepidation at the thought of seeing her tonight, when inevitably she would come to me.

__

Stjarna arrived to my chambers on time, as she had promised me early this morning.

I was sitting in my bedchamber in front of the fire and I heard the door in my main room open and close. In that moment, I almost wished that I had told her not to come to me tonight.

When she entered my bedchamber and saw me sitting there, she said my name. It was then when I felt a small pang of guilt. I stood up and she embraced me and looked up at me.

“Did you have a good day, Loki?” she inquired.

“Yes,” I replied.

Stjarna looked slightly concerned. “Is something wrong?”

I shook my head. “No. I am only tired. Let us sleep.”

She acquiesced easily enough and began to undress. I went to the bedside and quickly stripped and got into the bed. She crawled in next to me and turned onto her side so she was facing me.

She said with a small laugh, “Has Freyja at last grown bored of you?”

“What?” I asked, masking the alarm in my voice.

“She did not sit next to you this night,” Stjarna explained with a smile.

“Oh. Er, I suspect.”

Stjarna leaned over and kissed me lightly before settling back onto the bed. “I am glad for that,” she whispered. 

“Yes,” I responded absently.

“Good night, Loki.”

I lay on my back for a while, reflecting on the day’s events. Part of me did feel slightly bad, but the larger part of me was still excited by the fact that I had lain with another woman.

I had nearly forgotten what it was like, but I had never had a mistress before—not one like Stjarna, anyway—and I had never felt the thrill that could be had by lying with another when you were already so committed to one, even if that commitment was not necessarily intentional.

And now I turned my head and looked at Stjarna. She was lying on her back, one hand resting on her stomach beneath the covers and the other lying by her side.

She was not as beautiful as Freyja, certainly; her hair was not as long nor as fair, and she was not as plump and her breasts not as large, but she was still so beautiful to me and I still felt overwhelming desire for her. I think part of it stemmed from the fact that she had denied me for so long and now, if I wanted it, Stjarna would open herself to me so easily and so willingly. Just the thought of that excited me to no end.

I turned onto my side, no longer feeling so unsure as I had before, and slowly reached over and lightly traced my fingers over Stjarna’s arm, feeling the soft skin beneath my fingertips. She opened her eyes and looked over at me and smiled.

“I thought you were tired?” she teased.

I only smiled at her as I let my fingers wander beneath the covers. I ran my hand over the soft curve of her belly and down until I trailed my fingers through the soft curls at the top of her legs.

I watched as she closed her eyes and reached beneath the covers and put her hand over mine between her thighs. She parted her legs, giving me easier access, and I lazily ran my fingers through her already slick folds.

When I let a finger dip inside her, she turned onto her side and wrapped her arms around my neck and buried her face into the front of my shoulder and I could feel her breaths coming warm and heavy against my skin. She lifted her leg and draped it over my hip, opening herself up even more for me, as I continued playing with her.

And then she grabbed my shoulders and rolled onto her back, wordlessly urging me to get on top of her. I quickly obliged her, bringing my hand out from between her legs.

When she whispered my name, breathlessly, I felt it again—that excitement, that just hours before I’d been on top of Freyja like this, been inside her, and now would have Stjarna. I did not know why. It all felt so wrong and deceitful and filthy… but no—it was a type of filthy that I delighted in, a type of filthy that I had not tasted in so long and now once again desired to savor.

I reached down between our bodies and guided myself into her. I slowly pushed all the way in, watching her face. Her eyes were closed, lips parted with that small smile, just as Freyja had looked earlier, and I felt a rush of exhilaration and marveled, even now, at how willingly Stjarna would have me. Would she if she knew? I wondered.

And there came that treacherous excitement again and I could not be still anymore. I started moving above her and she slipped her arms under mine and dug her nails into my back. I went slowly at first, but eventually could not hold back and then I was nearly slamming into her and she was crying out with every hard thrust of my hips. Unlike Freyja, I took immense pleasure in all the sounds Stjarna made. Whether it was a scream torn from her throat or a soft little whimper coaxed from her lips, I loved it all.

Soon Stjarna was twisting and arching beneath me and tightening her legs on either side of my waist. Her cries had devolved into loud panting and I knew that she was close to her release. I thrust into her once more, hard, and then she cried my name and raked her nails hard down my back. She lifted up into me and the feeling of her insides coming around me nearly immediately pushed me into my own release.

I opened my mouth in a silent groan and raised my head and held myself above her as I came, my body frozen and my mind completely empty of everything now save for the feel of Stjarna under me and around me and this wonderful heat from her body, this searing heat in my own, intensified once again from this perfidious excitement.

And when the fire gradually died and left naught but that lingering warmth and that feeling of weakness through my entire body, I opened my eyes. My arms trembled and I nearly fell onto Stjarna, but I caught myself and gingerly lowered myself onto her; I knew she liked it when I lay on top of her like this. She was still shaking beneath me, still holding tight to me and trying to regain her breath, her insides just beginning to ease their grip on me.

After a few minutes, I braced my knee on the bed and rolled us over so that Stjarna was lying limply on top of me. I stroked her skin, which was damp with sweat, and she sighed contentedly.

And even as Stjarna reached up and began playing with a bit of my hair at the nape of my neck, curling it around her finger, and I turned my head to kiss her on the forehead, I was already thinking on when I might be able to do this next, for there was no doubt in my mind that I wanted this more than once.

I was already eager again to feel this delicious thrill of immorality, for I knew that the risk would be too high, the inevitable chase once again too sweet, and the rush too intoxicating, to not attempt again.


	30. Part I - Chapter 30

8 years later  
Loki

“Well, that was embarrassing.”

I glanced up in irritation at Thor’s voice. He was coming towards me, grinning widely. I was standing by the water barrel near the edge of the pit in the training yard, getting a drink, as our training session had just ended.

Thor put his hands on the edge of the barrel and leaned towards me. When I only stared at him, lips pressed tightly together, he burst into laughter.

“I hope you’re not as distracted as you were today when Father comes to observe us,” he commented.

Now I grimaced.

There was a tournament coming up in the next couple of months. Nearly all of the higher gods would participate in this show of strength and fighting proficiency; it was a huge event and one had not been held in nearly five years. I was not terribly excited about it because I had never won one, though I did try, since I could not simply roll over and let myself be bested. Last tournament, however, I had lost in the third round against the god Vidar, much to my embarrassment. If I were to be paired with him again this time, I most certainly would not lose against him.

But Thor spoke of a month from now, and about a month before the tournament, when Father would come to the training yard to observe and assess my and Thor’s progress, since we were his sons. I never liked it when he came to watch us. He would nearly always reprimand me, but then turn right around and praise Thor mightily. It seemed that I could never do anything to please him.

But I, too, hoped that I would not be distracted that day as I had been this morning, for Stjarna had come to watch me train today.

Stjarna would come perhaps once or twice every couple of weeks to the training yard and sit off to the side on one of those stone benches. I liked it when she came to see me, but I did not like how Thor always tried to make a show of beating me. Though I was used to it, I still did not like losing in front of Stjarna nearly every single time she was here.

“You know,” Thor said, “it is truly miraculous, brother.”

“What is miraculous?” I grabbed the ladle hanging on the edge of the barrel and dipped it into the water and raised it to my mouth.

“About your Lady Vana.”

“What about her?” I asked right before taking a drink.

“That she hasn’t grown bored of you yet. That she still comes to visit you. You’d think she’d get sick of watching me crush you into the dust.”

I rolled my eyes as I drank.

And then Thor inquired, “So how long?”

“How long what?” I dropped the ladle back onto the side of the barrel.

“How long have you been fucking her?”

I looked at him in annoyance. I did not like it when Thor talked about her, but I knew he would pick at it until I responded, so I answered, “About a decade.”

“Oh!” Thor laughed, coming around the barrel. He clapped me on the shoulder and I gritted my teeth. “Good for you, brother. I never thought you’d have it in you.”

“Have what in me?” I snapped.

“I never thought you’d keep one this long.”

I rolled my eyes again. I did not think it particularly amazing that I had kept Stjarna for so long. I knew there were others who had kept their mistresses for far longer—upwards of a century or two. But now that I thought about it, given my history, my keeping Stjarna for nine years did indeed seem miraculous.

“She must be really good,” Thor mused.

And then gleaning from my virulent expression, he held his hands up. “Sorry. But I am curious, Loki. You never talk to me about her.”

“Yes!” I said tersely. “I am sure it is not too difficult to remember why, either.”

Thor looked slightly remorseful. “That was so long ago and I did apologize for that afterwards. To both you and her.”

I stared at him for a moment longer before turning to make my way to the rest area. I began untying the leather vambraces on my arm as Thor bounded up beside me and walked with me.

“So, I’m taking a day off from my lessons next week. Ágaetliga and I are going out.”

“So?”

Ágaetliga was Thor’s latest mistress. He’d dropped that little brown-haired one named Haegr four or five years ago and had been with Ágaetliga for a few years now.

“Do you and your Vana want to come?”

“No.”

“Why not?” he inquired, reaching under his arm to begin untying the side laces of his leather vest.

We’d reached the rest area now, a small space with benches and racks for weapons and protective gear. I sat down on one of the wooden benches and pulled off my vambraces.

“Don’t I see enough of you during the day?” I asked spitefully.

Thor only laughed as he sat down next to me. “Alright, then.”

I thought that, finally, he had stopped talking, but not a minute later, he started up again. “So… you fuck any others since her?”

I closed my eyes in exasperation and lifted my head up. “Will you shut up?”

When I looked sideways at him, he only shrugged and smiled. “It is just I know how you are, brother. She good enough to keep you in line?”

I shook my head and looked down at my fingers as I untied the laces of my own vest.

Thor made a point to audibly gasp. “What? Has my little brother at last recognized the joys of monogamy?”

I did not reply to Thor, but I was thinking that I most certainly had not recognized the joys of monogamy.

I had had others since Stjarna and since Freyja. Many more, in fact, though they’d all been servants or other lowly palace staff. I’d been careful not to take any of Frigga’s handmaidens and run the risk of having them suddenly dismissed from court. Then Stjarna would have known, or grown suspicious at the very least, and I did not wish her to know that I had done this.

But, oddly enough, they did not satisfy me of late as they once had—none of them ever did. Used to, when I managed to get one into my bed or fuck them elsewhere in the palace, I would get that rush that I’d been seeking and would ride high, sometimes for days afterwards. But it just wasn’t the same anymore—had not been for the past year or so. I no longer knew what I was chasing, why I kept assuming that each one might be better than the last. They were nearly always so unfulfilling now and I would always return to Stjarna’s bed, for she could fulfill me like no other could, even after nearly a decade.

Suddenly, Thor asked, “Do you love her?”

Now I looked up at him and only stared.

He stood up and took off his vest. “I am only curious.”

“No,” I said shortly.

“Well, it’s something.”

“What is?” I snapped.

“You obviously feel something for her, brother, else why would you keep her so long? There must be more than just the fucking.” He reached out with a laugh and ruffled my hair. I irritably pushed his arm away.

I scowled at him as I stood up and took my vest off and hung it and my vambraces on one of the wooden racks.

“Why can you not ever mind your own business?” I sneered, pushing him out of the way so I could pass and return to the palace.

But now I could not get it out of my head as I walked.

The very word made me cringe.

Certainly, I loved Stjarna’s body. I loved the way she smelled and the expression she got on her face when I brought her to peak and the way she folded herself into me afterwards; I loved her smile and her laugh and how she still grew embarrassed when I showed her affection in public.

But I did not love her.

That was too far—too dangerous.

I knew what this was between us and it would not last forever. Someday, perhaps not for another ten years, but definitely someday, this would end. While Stjarna pleased me now, fantastically and nearly completely, I could not bring myself to admit that I loved her, for love was not a tie that could be so easily severed.

I had thought, initially, that I would eventually grow bored of Stjarna. Her holding out against me for so long had only succeeded in further fanning the flames of my desire for her, making me crave her even more, and I had figured that at least by now that fire would have died—but it had not. It had been nearly ten years now and I still felt overwhelming lust for Stjarna.

When we lay together, I would sometimes imagine that it was the very first time I was discovering her again, peeling back the layers, exposing her skin, kissing every hollow and dip of her body as if I did not already know so well each one and I could make it exciting for myself and make it all feel so new.

And despite the now only fleeting pleasure that fucking those other women brought me, these past years when I had been struck by that urge, that impulse, that need for something more, I had walked the corridors, studied the servants during dinner, arranged for secret meetings and little afternoon trysts. I had sought that burst of treacherous excitement that Stjarna’s body could not provide for me, but that any other woman’s could.

And so it had been for the past eight years, and such a marvelous job I had done of it.

I had successfully managed to spare Stjarna the knowledge of my infidelity and had never had much trouble in keeping it all separate. When I fucked those others, I did not think of Stjarna, and when I lay with Stjarna, or was with her, I did not think of those other women.

Stjarna seemed happy and I was pleased with how everything had worked out and all seemed well.

__

That night, I had supper brought to my chambers. I had not felt much like dining in the great hall and instead wished to dine privately with Stjarna. I had her summoned to my chambers before supper and she came just as the last servant had laid the rest of it out.

“Stjarna,” I said when she entered. I was just sitting down and going to pour myself a cup full of wine.

She looked at me and smiled, though I noticed that the smile did not reach her eyes.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

“It is nothing,” she replied, sitting down across from me. “I am just tired.”

I stared at her. It was obvious she was lying. Stjarna was a terrible liar, but even then I could almost always tell when somebody was lying. I suppose it had come about from me being such a talented liar myself.

But for now, I let it go. I knew she would eventually speak to me of it on her own. I only had to wait for it.

I tried to speak with Stjarna of her day, but her answers were short or half-hearted. Usually she was quite talkative, but not tonight. I noticed she drank more than she ate, as well.

And so I said, thinking it might perk her up, “Thor invited us to go out with him.”

“What do you mean?” Stjarna asked.

“He’s taking a day off from his lessons next week to go out with Ágaetliga. He invited us.”

And for the first time that night, Stjarna genuinely smiled, but I grimaced. I should not have said anything, I realized.

“He did? Oh, could we, Loki?”

“Eh, I did not actually think you would want to. You really want to go out with… them?”

“But would it not be fun? We’ve not gone outside the city in months.”

I looked down at my plate, thinking. I did not mind going out with Stjarna, but with Thor and his mistress tagging along…

I looked back up at Stjarna. “No. I see Thor enough as it is.”

“You would not endure Thor for one day for me?”

“But Stjarna, he is so annoying.”

“Loki, please?”

“No.”

Now Stjarna looked crestfallen and I cursed myself for having brought it up. I should have known she would have wanted to go, but she would get over it. I’d take her out soon enough.

After we had finished eating, I got up and took Stjarna’s hand and led her to my bed. I reached up to begin picking the pins out of her hair. She’d had it pinned up this morning when she had come to the training yard to watch me and at least twice today I had imagined taking it down tonight.

She stood there and let me unpin it and when it was loose down her back, I put my hands on either side of her neck and lifted her head and kissed her, tasting the wine on her lips. I was hoping she might have been more responsive, for I wanted to lie with her, and I also thought it would cheer her up, but she was not responding as vehemently as I had hoped. So I moved down to kiss the side of her neck; that always got her going.

But she pulled away and said quietly, “Loki?”

I looked down at her. She appeared almost forlorn.

“What?”

“I do not want to tonight,” she said softly.

I furrowed my brows. “Why?”

She gave a little shake of her head.

“What is wrong?” I inquired.

Perhaps now she would tell me.

“I just do not want to.”

“Are you ill?”

She had seemed perfectly fine this morning.

“No. Can we just lie down?”

I nodded my assent and got onto the bed. I sat down, propped up against my pillows, and watched as Stjarna came in after me. She lay on her back sideways on the bed and put her head in my lap. I put one hand under her jaw and she reached up and held it and I curled my fingers in her hair on the bed.

We sat there in silence for a long time while Stjarna stared off to the side, stroking my hand with her thumb. She had a faraway look in her eyes, but it was nothing new. Sometimes, Stjarna would get that look in her eyes and she would look so sorrowful and stare at the wall or the floor. I would always ask her what she was thinking about and she would tear her eyes away from whatever she had been staring at and give me a small smile and say, “Nothing, Loki.”

And now she had that despondent, distant look in her eyes again.

Just as I was about to once again ask her what was bothering her, she whispered, “Maerrhár is getting married.”

I knew which one Maerrhár was. Over the years, I had become very much acquainted with which handmaidens were which, considering how often Stjarna spoke of them to me. And as much as I could not have cared, I had involuntarily learned all of their names (and for some of them, even the names of their families) and many of their favorite pastimes, the most popular of which was gossiping.

“Isn’t that good?” I asked.

Was this why she looked so downcast?

“Yes. She is very happy. His name is Gaetinndrenger.”

“Then why are you so unhappy?” I inquired, somewhat in confusion. I would think that Stjarna would be happy for her friend.

Stjarna was quiet for a long while. And then she said, “The others were talking about children.”

“Oh…”

Children had always been a touchy subject for Stjarna. She did not talk about it at all and neither did I. Not that I had any reason to, but Stjarna purposefully avoided the topic since she was incapable of bearing children and the very mention of children or babies always seemed to put her in a dour mood.

But now I knew why she had been so unresponsive to me tonight.

I was quiet. I was not sure I wanted to further the conversation, since I was not entirely certain that it was a good idea. I did not want Stjarna to become any more depressed than she already was.

And then Stjarna murmured, “Loki?”

I glanced down at her, but she was not looking at me.

“Yes?”

“Have you got children?”

My heart skipped a beat, though Stjarna was still gazing off to the side.

“No. Why? Did you hear something?” I questioned, keeping my voice steady.

“No,” she responded, still stroking my hand. Now she turned her head and looked up at me. When she spoke again, her voice was soft and quiet, as if she was afraid of my response. “Would you have ever wanted them?”

I did not reply immediately. I was trying to think on what to tell her.

“No. But it’s… it’s not as if I’ve thought about it.”

“Why not?” she asked curiously.

Truly, I did not wish to speak of this, but I would not tell her to stop talking about it since obviously it was bothering her. So I said, “I have more important things to be concerned with than… children.”

Slowly her eyes traveled to the side and she turned her head away from me.

“Yes,” she breathed in absentminded consent, now beginning to draw patterns on the back of my hand with her fingers.

And then, in the glow from the fireplace, I could see her eyes shining, see the tears caught on her lashes.

“What is wrong?” I asked suddenly, lifting my hand up and pushing her face towards me. Why was she crying?

“It is only that I will never have them,” she whispered, her voice on the edge of breaking.

I was silent. I did not know how to comfort her for this. What could I possibly say?

She looked up at the ceiling now. “I am ruined,” she said quietly, “and you would never want them, anyway.”

I stared down at her, almost uncomprehending. I was not sure I had understood her correctly. Was she talking about having children with me? The thought of that stunned me. Had she thought of this before? How long had she been thinking of it?

“But it is silly,” she sighed, more to herself than me.

“You would not want children with me,” I ventured, almost unsurely.

Stjarna looked up at me. “Why not?”

“I… I would not make a good father.”

“How would you know?” she inquired softly, now running her fingers slowly up and down my arm. “You’d need children to know.”

I was silent for a moment, but then I cleared my throat. “Well. Can you imagine ten of me running around, then? Can you imagine the chaos?”

Suddenly, Stjarna laughed and I felt relief. 

“Ten? Oh, you are too sure of yourself, Loki.”

I feigned offense. “What? Do you not think I could get ten off of you?”

Stjarna laughed again and shook her head and I smiled down at her.

And then I moved my hand down until I splayed my fingers on her belly. 

I asked softly, “You have thought of this before?”

“Yes,” she answered tentatively, as if she was fearful that I might grow angry. She put her hand over mine. “I have thought of it.”

I did not say it—would not dare to say it—but I had also thought of Stjarna large with my child. But rarely had I thought of it and I had never known if it had been in fondness or worry. Of course I knew that Stjarna was barren and could not bear children, so I did not have to actually worry that she might become pregnant. So had it been in fondness, those fleeting thoughts of her belly swollen with my seed?

“Why?”

She hesitated. “I know not. It is stupid to think of, since it is impossible. But even then…” she trailed off and then said quickly, “But it is of no matter. It is foolish.”

And now she looked sorrowful again.

“Did you imagine them?” I queried, hating that look on her face.

“Imagine them?”

“Yes. Our children.”

It felt so odd saying that. Our children.

Stjarna almost looked ashamed. “Yes.”

“How were they?”

“I imagined a boy and a girl.”

“Oh?” I raised my eyebrows and gave her a little smile. “And how did you see them?”

Now Stjarna managed to smile. “Our son I imagined being pale and skinny and austere—just like you.”

“Would he also be superiorly handsome and intelligent?” I joked, twisting her hair in my fingers.

“Oh, but how could he not be?” Stjarna laughed.

“And what of the girl?”

Stjarna looked pensive for a moment, but before she could say anything, I proposed, “She would resemble you, I think. So soft and with such beautiful hair and beautiful grey eyes.”

When Stjarna looked unsure, I chuckled. “What, you want her to look like me? Nobody would marry the poor girl.”

Stjarna giggled at that. “Very well, Loki.”

As I twined my fingers with hers on her belly, I asked, “So what would you name them?”

“Our son would be called Lítthyrndr.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Little horned one?”

Stjarna laughed loudly now and rolled onto her side, pressing her face into my stomach, trying to stifle her giggles. Despite the oddness of it all, I also let out a little laugh.

She caught her breath and explained, “We would have a helmet made for him, a little one like yours, and he would dress in green just like you. What a pair you two would be.”

I could not help but to smile, thinking of Stjarna’s imaginings. “And what of our daughter?” I inquired. “What would you name her?”

Stjarna was quiet for a moment. And then, “Meyla.”

I cocked an eyebrow and said blandly, “Well, that is terribly simple.”

“Yes, but she would be our little girl,” Stjarna murmured. Quite suddenly, she looked up at me and held my hand tightly. She looked embarrassed and sat up. “I am sorry, Loki.”

“What? Why?”

“I did not mean to bring any of this up. It is foolish. I am sorry.”

I leaned forward and said, trying to reassure her, “It is of no consequence, Stjarna.”

It was not as if Lítthyrndr and Meyla would ever come into existence, anyway. I supposed it did no harm for Stjarna to imagine it, since she would never bear children. Let her have her little fantasies. What with her inability to bear children, why should she not be allowed to imagine it?

But now I felt a little pang of uncertainty. I wondered what it all meant, Stjarna imagining having children with me. I knew that children and things of this nature were important to women, but I had never heard her speak of this before. I wondered how long she had been thinking of it.

And now I thought of what Thor had said earlier today about love.

Suddenly, I wondered if Stjarna loved me.

And immediately, my guts clenched in trepidation.

Her thinking of having children by me did not necessarily mean love, did it? It would only be natural for her to envision them with me, since we were lying together—had been lying together for a while now—wouldn’t it?

But I wasn’t certain.

I almost would have asked Stjarna if she loved me, but I’m not sure I would have appreciated either answer that she gave to me. She had never told me before that she loved me and I had never said it to her. It was too momentous, too perilous, a statement.

And yet I wondered.

“Stjarna?”

She looked over at me. “Yes, Loki?”

I gazed at her, my eyes flickering back and forth between hers.

“Do you…”

She raised her eyebrows when I only stared at her, unable to form the words.

“Do you… want to go out with Thor and Ágaetliga next week?” I asked, the words tumbling out before I could stop myself.

She looked slightly surprised.

“I thought you did not want to go.”

“I do not,” I said, looking down now and cursing myself. “But you wanted to go.”

She smiled. “I would very much like that.”

I inwardly groaned and lay back against the pillows. “It is going to be torture,” I mumbled.

“Oh, Loki,” Stjarna whispered with a small smile. She leaned forward and kissed me lightly on the mouth. And then she lay down next to me and took my arm and put it over her. She rested her cheek against my side, wrapped one arm around my torso, and took my hand in hers and held it on my stomach.

I inattentively stroked her hair, staring ahead.

Stjarna soon fell asleep, but I was kept awake for hours afterwards with these distressingly nauseous thoughts.

Now all I could think about was whether or not Stjarna loved me.


	31. Part I - Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The term “Ljósálfr” refers to an elf from Alfheim; “Ljósálfar” is plural.

Stjarnavetr

The next week was the outing with Thor and his newest mistress, Ágaetliga. I had been very excited for this since Loki had said we could go, as he had not taken me outside of the palace in such a long time.

I had not slept with Loki the night before, but instead would meet him and the others down at the stables. From there, we would head outside the city gates and into the countryside.

I eagerly prepared myself that morning and went down to the stables early to wait.

Thor was the first, other than myself, to arrive, and he sat with me and we talked. I asked him where he was taking us, wondering if it was near to the dense little grove where Loki usually took me when we went out like this. Inside the grove was a spring and oftentimes Loki and I would strip down and soak in it. It almost always turned into Loki catching me and making love to me in the water or on the grassy bank. Afterwards, we would lie outside the thicket of trees on the sweet grass, a tangle of tired limbs, and allow the sunlight to dry us.

But Thor told me we would likely just picnic under a large tree, which I did not mind. Now that I thought on it, I would have preferred to keep the place where Loki and I went to just ourselves.

Soon enough, Ágaetliga came down, though it took Loki a little while longer to arrive. Once we were all present, though, our horses were brought and loaded up and we mounted them and headed out.

Loki appeared to be in a rather sour mood and so Thor said to him as we rode, “You look cheery, brother.”

Loki only scowled.

“Was it your Lady Vana who convinced you to come?”

“No,” I interjected. “Loki offered to bring me.”

“Truly?” Thor raised his eyebrows. “That is surprising.”

I thought back to it.

Loki had been about to ask me a question that night, after I had so imprudently brought up the topic of children. I had suspected that it was not what he had originally wished to ask me, our tagging along with Thor and his mistress, but he had resorted to it at the last moment and I had eagerly taken him up on his offer before he could change his mind.

And as I thought about it, my mind drifted to the conversation that we had had beforehand, when I had broached the subject of children. Mercifully, Loki had not mentioned that discussion since then and neither had I. It seemed to me that Loki had been trying to console me, in spite of his own discomfort. After I had seen how uncomfortable it had made him, though, I had felt ludicrously foolish for having brought it up at all and ultimately wished that I had not, despite his assurances to me.

But everything seemed perfectly alright now, much to my relief.

We reached the city gates soon enough. Once outside the outskirts of the city, the countryside lay spread enticingly before us. Stands of trees dotted the verdant and undulating landscape, as well as a large forest nearby, where the hunting was done. Asgard was not all just golden city; a good part of it was rolling hills and thick, lush woodland.

As we rode, our pace leisurely, Thor steered his horse towards Loki and the two drifted ahead of Ágaetliga and I and began a rather animated conversation, despite Loki’s initial bitter mood.

Meanwhile, I had never realized how chatty Ágaetliga was. She did not mingle with our particular group, but sat with her own in the queen’s chambers. She had been a handmaiden nearly as long as me, though Thor had only discovered her. I liked her well enough; she was very sweet.

Our own conversation was rather frivolous in nature and eventually—inevitably—the topic drifted to that of our men.

Ágaetliga began talking of Thor and all of the charming and considerate things he did that she loved. She spoke of when he took her out, as Loki did with me, and of all the gifts he got her: dresses and jewelry and other things of a more trivial nature.

When at last she had worn herself out, she asked thoughtfully, “And what of His Highness? Does he also gift you things?”

I was quiet for a moment. Though I did not often speak of Loki to the others or discuss our relationship, I suppose I felt a little more carefree out here on horseback and in the country. Besides, I knew Ágaetliga to be a benevolent woman.

“Yes,” I said, glancing ahead.

Thor and Loki were quite a ways in front of us, so there was no threat of being overheard, what with the way they were now nearly shouting at each other.

“Jewelry, sometimes. Scents and oils. And books.”

“Books?” Ágaetliga smiled, as if amused. But it was not an unkind smile—more curious than callous. I suspected that Ágaetliga did not read much.

“Yes. Does Thor read?” I inquired, despite already knowing the answer. Loki often complained to me of Thor’s idiocy and lack of interest in anything but the more physical pursuits.

“No. He is too restless,” Ágaetliga responded. “Do you and His Highness read? Since he gives you books?”

“Yes, we will sit and read together sometimes.”

“Oh, that sounds very nice,” Ágaetliga replied kindly.

“Yes, it is,” I said quietly to myself.

I very much liked it when we lay in Loki’s bed reading. I might put my head in his lap, or his in mine, or we might sit next to each other propped up against his pillows, and read until we fell asleep. We often did that when he presented me with a new book of runes or he had to read something for one of his lessons.

After a while, Ágaetliga suddenly announced, “You have been with His Highness for a long time now, haven’t you?”

I looked at her in surprise, but nodded. “Yes, nearly ten years.”

“How do you do it, Stjarnavetr?”

“What do you mean?”

“How do you keep him interested?”

“Interested?” I bit my lip, thinking.

I knew why Loki had pursued me in the beginning. It was because I had denied him for so long and Loki was the type that craved something even more when he could not have it, but I was not entirely sure why Loki had kept me so long after I had given myself to him, for certainly there was nothing special about me.

“It is only that I know how Thor is,” Ágaetliga said quickly, and with a sigh, before I could answer her. “I do like him so very much, though.”

She spoke of how Thor would often only keep a mistress for a certain amount of years before moving onto another one.

She sighed again. “I pray that Thor keeps me as long as His Highness has kept you.”

I did not respond, but instead was silent and staring ahead, watching Loki. He was looking at Thor, listening to something his brother was saying. I could discern his expression, one of skepticism—or distaste. I wanted to laugh. It seemed that when around others, including his brother, Loki tended to be churlish and rude, but he was hardly ever like that with me. He was always rather affable and even funny; he tried often to make me laugh.

And now Ágaetliga and I descended into silence as we rode along.

Perhaps half an hour later, we finally reached a spot Thor deemed worthy of a picnic. He chose for us to eat on the side of a very gently sloping hill in the shade of a large and primeval-looking tree. Once he had dismounted, Loki remarked petulantly that there was a much larger, better tree on the next hill. I came up behind him, having also just dismounted my horse, and slipped my hand into his and said with a smile that I liked this spot.

He grumbled something, but acquiesced to me without a word. He sat down after Thor had laid a large blanket out and stuck his long legs out and rested on his arms behind him. I sat next to him, legs tucked beneath me, as Thor went to get the bags of food off of the horses.

Ágaetliga seated herself across from us and smiled. I hoped she did not smile too much; it would probably annoy Loki.

“It is a beautiful day, Your Highness,” she remarked to Loki as Thor came back, arms full of food and wineskins.

Loki only grunted his assent.

Ágaetliga did not take his discourtesy badly, though. She only smiled. I am sure Thor spoke to her about Loki as much as Loki complained to me of Thor, so she knew of his nearly chronic surly disposition. I could imagine Thor and Ágaetliga lying on his bed, as Loki and I did, and he would complain to her about what an ass Loki had been that day.

I smiled to myself for this insignificant, yet amusing, connection between us.

Once Thor had laid all the food out, he sat down next to Ágaetliga.

I looked down at the abundant fare. Thor certainly had not packed lightly, but then again both brothers would decidedly eat much more than Ágaetliga or I.

After we had all gotten our food, Thor and Loki began discussing the upcoming tournament.

Tournaments did not happen often in Asgard. Since I had been here, there had only been one other, about five or six years ago. We had had tournaments in Vanaheim and I had liked them well enough. They were interesting to watch, though there had not truly been any suspense, for Valdrlund had won nearly every single one in the century I had been at court.

Gradually, the topic shifted from the tournament to the approaching banquet in a few weeks.

In addition to the tournament coming up in a couple of months, there was also a banquet. It would be much grander and much more formal than other banquets, for it was to celebrate the recent renewal of the treaty between Asgard and Alfheim. The Ljósálfr ambassador and other Ljósálfar dignitaries would sit at the high table and the princes and other gods would be accompanied by partners. There had been banquets like this in the past, though they were rather infrequent.

Thor was excited about the banquet, since he liked the revelry, but Loki quickly became bored with the conversation and drifted off into silence.

At long last, after we had finished eating and sat talking for a good while, Thor wiped his hands on his pants and stood up. He said he was going for a walk and held his hand out for Ágaetliga to take.

“Come, Ágaetliga,” he told her.

She took his hand and he helped her up and they began walking away over the hill and soon disappeared from sight. I wondered if they were headed towards a small thicket of nearby trees.

“Where are they going?” I questioned.

“I think they’re going to go have a romp up against a tree, Stjarna,” Loki replied disinterestedly, reaching to grab a basket of red berries that had remained virtually untouched during our little feast. He lay on his back, folded an arm under his head, and began lazily picking the berries out of the basket and dropping them into his mouth.

I sat next to him with my knees pulled up, fingers laced over my shins. I looked down at him and he smiled up at me, the berry juice darkening his lips. He licked them and said, “Are you excited for the banquet?”

“Oh. I suppose. It is just another banquet,” I answered. “I thought you did not care for them?”

He shrugged. “I do not. But this one is a little different.”

“It is?”

“Yes.”

“How so?”

“I want you to come with me.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, not understanding.

“I want you to accompany me.”

My lips parted in surprise. “Accompany you?”

That meant I would enter the hall with him, as well as sit up at the high table with him. My stomach twisted at the very thought.

“Loki… I cannot do that.”

“Why not?”

“I would not fit in.”

“Fit in?” he scoffed, sitting up to look at me.

“I am but a handmaiden,” I explained.

“And I am the prince. If I say you will accompany me, then you will.”

“But what of the Allfather? I do not think he would want me sitting up there.”

I suspected that the king would not take too kindly to his son’s mistress sitting at the high table. I also doubted that I would be too warmly welcomed by the others since I was not of noble birth. My title was only a name the queen had given to me upon my becoming a handmaiden—I was still just a Vana commoner.

“And what say has he in who I bring?” Loki contested. “You will only be accompanying me, as Sif will accompany Thor.”

“Yes, but Sif is of higher birth than me! And see, Thor is not taking Ágaetliga, though she is his mistress. You should take one of the Allfather’s generals’ daughters.”

Even Gullhár would be more worthy to accompany Loki than me, since she was the daughter of Odin’s chief lieutenant.

Loki rolled his eyes. “But I do not want to have one of Father’s generals’ daughters accompany me.”

“I don’t know, Loki…”

“It would please me greatly, Stjarna,” he pressed.

“But I’ve not got the proper attire to accompany you—”

“Then I will have a dress made for you. I will pay for it and anything else you require.”

“But, Loki—”

“Stjarnavetr.”

I was silent, picking at a loose thread on the skirt of my dress. At long last, I sighed. “Alright, Loki.”

“Fantastic!” he beamed, leaning over to kiss my cheek.

He lay back down and resumed his languid consumption of those red berries.

I turned around, burdened now with these worries about the banquet. I tried to reassure myself, tell myself it would not be so bad. Loki would be with me. It could not be terribly awful, I decided.

And so, somewhat comforted, I allowed myself to relax and let my eyes rove over the grassy landscape.

I had only been sitting for perhaps ten minutes when, suddenly, Loki made a sound and I turned and looked down at him. I would have thought that he might have dozed off by now, but he was lying there, holding a berry between his fingers and studying it.

“What are you doing?” I asked curiously.

“I am wondering which juice is sweeter,” he pondered, popping the berry into his mouth.

“What do you mean?”

“The berry’s,” he said, and then I could hear him burst the fruit in his mouth between his teeth, “or yours?”

I felt the heat rise in my cheeks. He had been sitting here thinking of that all this time?

“I think I shall have to test it,” he continued ingenuously. His eyes flickered up to mine and my lips parted in surprise.

Did he mean now? Here, with Thor and Ágaetliga so nearby?

Loki sat up then, a small smile on his lips, and leaned over to press his face into my shoulder. He slowly made his way up, leaving little kisses across the top of my shoulder until he turned his head to bury his face in my neck. I felt his warm breath, the wetness of his tongue on my skin, and the brief sharpness of his teeth as he nipped at the soft flesh.

“Loki,” I whispered uncertainly, trying to ignore the rivulets of pleasure coursing straight to the spot between my legs.

“Mmm?” he murmured, sliding his hand down my leg, over my clasped fingers, to grasp the hem of my dress.

“No!” I cried suddenly, grabbing his hand.

He pulled back and looked at me. “What is it?”

“Loki, we’re not alone. Thor and Ágaetliga might be back at any moment—”

“Oh, please,” he rolled his eyes. “They’re obviously off fucking against a tree. And Thor can very easily go a few rounds, so they should be off for a while.”

“Loki!” I hissed. Even after nearly ten years with him, sometimes his crudeness still mortified me.

“What?” he laughed at my expression.

And then he grabbed my arms and pulled me over and onto him as he dropped back to the ground. I fell onto him with a little shriek and he quickly grabbed my leg and draped it over his hips so I was straddling him, my knees digging into the ground through the blanket on either side of him. I had barely caught myself above him and now my hands were splayed on the ground on either side of his head.

He grinned and lifted his hips and I let out a little breath.

But I said again, worriedly, “Loki, no.”

Loki put his hands on my hips. “Stjarna, I’ll not let their presence spoil this. I would have had you up against a tree—twice!—if they’d not been here. You must give me something.”

“But they could come back.”

“You worry too much,” he smirked.

“And you do not worry enough,” I countered.

Loki smiled and began kneading the soft flesh of my hips through my dress. He lifted up and kissed me on the mouth. I could taste the berries, that sweet and sour deliciousness, on his lips.

He whispered, “Has nine years with me not made you any bolder, Stjarna?”

“Not as bold as you’d seem to like,” I answered with a little giggle.

I did think that being with Loki for this long now had changed me a bit. I had even finally acquiesced to Loki’s wanting to take me somewhere other than our chambers; I had made him take me to a more secluded corridor in the palace, as well as put up an illusion around us and I had, much to my surprise, liked it. We had done that more than once through the years, though it was not often something I begged for him to do. And yet, I was still not so daring as to lie with Loki when his brother and his brother’s mistress might come over the hill at any moment.

“But I’ve not had you in so long, Stjarna.”

“It’s been three days,” I said unsympathetically.

Sometimes, being Loki’s mistress could be very arduous. There were nights when I told Loki that I was going to sleep in my own chambers and he must not come to me, for I knew if I stayed the night, he would tempt me into lying with him when I was still so exhausted from the night before.

Loki flashed me a salacious grin and cocked an eyebrow. “Just pull my pants down and keep your dress on so if they come back they can’t see us.”

I leaned forward and tucked my arms beneath me on his chest. When I inclined my head, my hair, which I had let loose this morning, fell forward and formed a little golden room for our faces. I kissed Loki lightly on the mouth and whispered, “Somehow, I think they would still know what we are doing.”

“Perhaps they won’t. Thor’s very stupid, you know.”

“Yes, you’ve told me many times before,” I laughed, giving him another chaste peck on the lips. “Could you wait until later?”

He sighed dramatically. “Very well, Stjarna. I will suffer until then.”

“And you will like it,” I grinned, pressing my nose to his.

Now he laughed, as well.

I rolled off of him onto my back and stared up at the leaves above us, ruffled by the light breeze and casting a shivering pattern of dappled sunlight onto us. I lay like that for a bit, beginning to get drowsy for our nearly lethargic surroundings. After a moment, I turned onto my side and leaned into Loki. He had his eyes closed now and wordlessly opened his arm so I might rest against him. I put my head on the side of his chest and closed my eyes, hearing his heartbeat in my ears.

“Are you having a good time, Loki?” I murmured, lightly running my fingers along the metal curvature on his chest.

“It is alright,” he said.

“Only now because Thor and Ágaetliga have gone away?” I laughed quietly.

“Yes.”

I smiled to myself and reached to grab his hand, which was resting on his stomach. I languidly stroked it and played with his fingers, thinking on how much I loved his hands. They were so large and his fingers were long and slender and graceful, but I am not entirely sure Loki would have appreciated my describing him as, in any way, graceful.

And now lying here in his arms, I began thinking on how lucky I was for Loki to have kept me this long, for him to have treated me so well all these years. Sometimes, it still did not feel real, but the fact was that I was with Loki, had been for nine wonderful years, and all was well.

I twined my fingers with his and closed my eyes and let myself drift off, loving this closeness between us.

I do not know how much time had passed—it might have been ten minutes or an hour—before Thor and Ágaetliga returned, hand in hand.

I was awakened by Ágaetliga’s laugh. I slowly opened my eyes, sat up, and wiped my face, trying to refresh myself. Loki stirred beside me, but did not sit up.

When Thor and Ágaetliga reached us and stood there, I thought it very obvious what they had been doing. Thor’s face was still flushed and Ágaetliga’s hair was slightly mussed and her bodice still a bit twisted out of place, but Thor was grinning from ear to ear like a boy and they both seemed very jovial.

Meanwhile, Loki now sat up, looking annoyed and as stoic as ever.

We all four sat together for a while longer until midafternoon. It was then when Thor decided we must begin our trek back to the palace and so we pulled the horses away from their grazing, packed them up, and headed back towards the city.

Loki rode next to me the entire time, as Thor had elected to ride by Ágaetliga. He seemed rather enchanted with her now, as opposed to the ride out, and they talked and laughed the whole way back.

Loki did not seem as cantankerous as he had been this morning, which pleased me, and we talked the entire way back to the palace, as well. Though I was used to his foul disposition and it did not affect me as much as it might have another, I liked it best when he was in a pleasant mood.

When we finally reached the palace and dismounted at the stables, Thor remarked, “We should do this more often, brother.”

I fought back a smile when I saw Loki, who was just dismounting, grimace.

After Thor and Ágaetliga had bid us farewell and departed, I asked Loki if we might dine in his chambers tonight, for it was already getting close to dinnertime.

“Yes, that’s alright,” he acceded.

“Make sure to have them bring some of those berries you were eating earlier,” I said, linking my arm with his as we began walking.

“What for?”

I smiled up at him. “Did you not say earlier that you wished to conduct some sort of taste test?”

“Oh,” he laughed. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“We can eat them in the bed,” I suggested. “Is that alright?”

Loki smirked and pulled me closer. “That is perfectly fine by me, Stjarna.”


	32. Part I - Chapter 32

Stjarnavetr

Two weeks after the outing with Thor and Ágaetliga, I came to my chambers one afternoon and found a bag draped across my bed and a box next to it. I smiled to myself, knowing that they had to be from Loki.

Curious, I opened the bag first and was surprised to see a peek of deep green, nearly the same shade of green as Loki’s cape. I pulled the item within out and held a floor-length gown in my hands. I held it up, lips parted in surprise.

I had almost, amazingly, forgotten about this.

While on the outing with Thor and his mistress, Loki had told me that he wished for me to accompany him to the upcoming banquet, which was now in a week, to celebrate the recently renewed treaty between Asgard and Alfheim. I had been hesitant to accept his offer, for I did not think I would be too well received at the high table, but he had managed to coerce me into attending with him, also promising to have a new dress made for me.

This must have been it.

I carefully laid the dress on my bed and opened the box. Inside sat a metal corset, etched with delicate, curving designs, meant to wrap around my waist and cinch the dress.

I wrapped the length of heavy, yet delicate-looking fabric carefully around my arm and took the corset in my other hand, going immediately to try it on. In my bath chamber, and standing before the long mirror, I pulled my dress and shift off. I slipped the new dress over my head and fumbled with the thin, nearly non-existent laces on the back. Once the back was closed, I clasped the corset around my middle. I brushed my hair out of the way and studied myself, turning this way and that.

It fit perfectly and was strikingly beautiful, I thought, though it was not cut like my usually more modest dresses. Loki had taken liberty with this particular gown, I noticed, when he had directed the seamstress’s hand. The draped collar dipped well below my collarbones and the dress was sleeveless, though there was a heavy, cape-like extension of fabric on the back that reached the floor that would drag behind me when I walked. But it was such a lovely green—his green. There was a solid green underskirt and then a darker, sheer overskirt which seemed to ripple when I moved.

I looked incredibly ostentatious, though, and I felt trepidation at going out in public like this. But this is how Loki wanted me to look, or rather, how I needed to look to accompany him, since he was the prince.

But he had wanted for me to go with him and so I would, even if I did not wish to.

__

The night of the banquet, I went to Loki’s chambers, feeling unbearably showy. I had worn similar things in Vanaheim, at Valdrlund’s behest, but I reasoned that I could get through this one night. Loki had never told me how to dress or how to look, so I would do this for him without much complaint.

Besides, I was admittedly excited to see his reaction to my appearance.

I slowly opened Loki’s door and slipped inside. I went into his bedchamber and saw him standing near his wardrobe, facing away from me, just clipping the first side of his cape into place.

“Loki,” I said.

He turned upon hearing my voice and I could not help but to smile when I saw him stop. A grin slowly spread over his face and suddenly I did not feel so foolish, what with the way he was looking at me—with such adoration, with such blatant desire.

Loki walked up to me and lightly touched the fabric draped above my breasts. “What extraordinary taste I have,” he chuckled.

I laughed, finding it hard not to smile now, and reached up to take his hand in mine.

He said, “Do you like it, Stjarna?”

“I do,” I replied with a small laugh. He had asked me that more than a few times this past week when we had seen one another. He had been very excited to see the dress on me and even insisted that I model it for him, but I had said I would only wear it the night of the banquet.

He had been disappointed, but eager, nonetheless.

Loki gazed at me, a little smile on his lips. He reached up and lightly ran his hand over my hair. I had not pinned it up tonight, but instead had braided parts of it with gold thread. I knew Loki liked my hair best when it was free down my back.

“You look so beautiful, Stjarna,” he breathed. “Especially in my colors.”

I lifted my head up and laughed as he leaned down and turned his head to gently kiss the side of my neck.

“I would take you now,” he nearly growled against my skin, “but we’ve not enough time, unfortunately.”

I turned my head and whispered against his hair, “There is always later.”

“Mmm,” he murmured, slipping his arms under mine and wrapping them around my middle, pulling me close to him.

“We’d best not be late,” I said quietly when it looked as if he might just decide we did have enough time.

He stood up and smiled without showing his teeth. “Yes, yes. Give me another minute and then I’ll be ready.”

He went back to fastening his cape, which had been hanging at an odd angle down his back and dragging on the floor, though he had seemed not to care when he had seen me.

As he finished up, I looked around and saw his helmet sitting on his table, next to a rather ornate wooden box.

I walked up to his helmet and said, “Is it heavy?”

Loki turned briefly to see what I was talking about. “The helmet? No.”

I raised my eyebrows and picked it up. “It feels heavy.” And then, feeling a bit impish, I added, “May I try it on?”

I heard Loki laugh. “If you feel you must, Stjarna.”

I put it over my head and it fell down and I had to push it up to see.

“You are a liar, Loki Odinson,” I said with a laugh. “It is stupendously heavy.”

Loki turned around and smirked. He came towards me, brushing his now even cape out behind him. He put his first finger under the brow of the helmet and lifted it up so he could see my eyes. I looked up at him and smiled.

“I think it’s a bit too large for you, darling.”

“Yes,” I agreed. Loki took it off of me, careful not to pull my hair, and put it on.

Once he was ready, I turned towards his door. “Are we ready to leave, now?”

“Not quite.” When I turned around in surprise, he said, “Come back here.”

He was now holding that box I had seen on the table in his hands. When I went to stand in front of him, he held it out to me.

“What is it?” I inquired, looking up at him.

He rolled his eyes. “Stjarna, you ask me that every single time I present you with something. Just open it.”

I flipped the little latch on the front of the box and opened the lid.

On a bed of black silk sat a gold bangle, meant to wrap around my upper arm. The gold reflected brightly in the firelight, almost seeming to make it move.

I touched it and then gingerly lifted it out of the box.

It was in the shape of a serpent, I saw now. The gold was delicately wrought, scored with many fine lines meant to represent the snake’s individual scales. The head of the serpent was peppered with fine little granules of gold and its eyes were brilliantly refulgent. The overall detail was breathtaking, the quality superb.

Loki set the box back onto the table and took the bangle from me. I held out my arm for him, knowing now why he had made the dress sleeveless. He gently pushed the bangle up my arm and I gave an involuntary shiver; the gold was cold at first, but my skin would quickly warm it.

As soon as the bangle was in place, Loki reached up and behind my neck and began unclasping my necklace.

“What are you doing?” I questioned.

“Only this,” he said, motioning towards the bangle as he carefully placed my necklace—a gift from him—on the table. He then proceeded to remove my earrings—also a gift from him—and stood back and looked at me.

He smirked. “Gold suits you, Stjarna.”

I looked down at the gold bangle; it took up nearly my entire upper arm, wrapping around it three times, and now with my other jewelry gone and nothing left but my metal corset, it would most certainly command attention.

“As does green?” I asked with a small laugh, looking up at him.

“Mmm, as do I,” he purred, leaning down to kiss me on the mouth.

When he broke away, I looked back down at the bangle. “Thank you, Loki. It is very beautiful.” I stroked the head of the snake lightly, as if it was a real and breathing thing.

“Yes,” Loki agreed. But when I looked up, a smile on my lips, he was gazing at me and not at the bangle.

Slowly, Loki reached out and put his hands on my hips. He pulled me towards him until I could feel the hardness of his ceremonial armor pressing into my front. He lowered his head and kissed the top of my shoulder before turning his head to kiss the side of my neck.

I said curiously, even as he nipped at my skin, “Why do you like serpents, Loki?”

“I have always liked them,” he murmured against me. “And I suppose I am just living up to my name.”

“Your name?” I asked in confusion.

Loki pulled back and said, with a sly grin, “Ormstunga.”

I raised my eyebrows.

I knew Loki had nicknames. I knew of Gullhyrndr, given to him by the handmaidens, and Silvertongue, given to him by some of the other gods, but I had not yet heard Ormstunga. It meant serpent-tongue—liar.

Loki mused, “It is new, I think. Thor said Týr came up with it, thinking himself clever.”

I gazed at him in puzzlement. “Why would you want to live up to that?”

“It keeps people on their toes around me, since I am such a veritable liar, apparently.”

“But you do lie,” I pointed out.

“Only when it suits me,” he replied sagaciously, turning me around and wrapping his arms around my middle.

Just as he kissed the top of my shoulder again, I asked quietly, stroking the metal vambrace on his forearm, “Loki?”

“Hmm?”

“Have you ever lied to me?”

Loki kissed my skin and said, “No.” And then he reached down and grabbed my hand. “Let us go or we’ll be late.”

__

All of the lingering warmth I had felt from laughing with Loki earlier quickly dissipated as soon as we reached the great hall.

I kept my eyes straight ahead or down, not wishing to look around as we walked in and took our seats up at the high table. I was feeling self-conscious and could feel the stares, mostly from the others already seated at the high table, who wondered at the youngest prince’s odd decision to have his mistress seated here with him instead of some woman much more worthy.

But Loki acted as he always did; it seemed he did not care in the least.

As Loki pulled my chair out for me, I glanced up and caught sight of the Allfather, sitting a ways down the table. He was looking at us and my insides tightened in apprehension when I saw his expression, one of cool disgust, but then I saw the queen sitting next to him, smiling warmly at us. However, her merry visage did not assuage me of my fears.

Loki quickly took his seat next to me, blocking my view of the Allfather and queen. I sat in silence as Thor came in with Sif.

I was exceedingly grateful when dinner began. It meant I could focus on something other than my discomfort.

Once or twice, I felt Loki squeeze my thigh beneath the table, but I could not tell if it was to comfort or arouse me. I did not put it past him to try something like that at dinner, sitting just feet away from his parents, but whatever it was, it did not help.

The talk at the high table was very different from that of the handmaiden’s table.

While the handmaidens gossiped and spoke mostly of men, talk at the high table could either be excessively diplomatic or inordinately ribald, depending on the mood, Loki had told me before. Tonight, it seemed the talk was diplomatic, since this banquet was more formal than most.

And through the whole thing, I endeavored to remain completely silent.

Loki would lean over sometimes to ask me if I was alright, speaking so only I could hear. I would look at him and smile, trying to appear at ease. I did not think I fooled him, but he would leave it at that.

I had managed to endure most of the dinner before the dancing was slated to begin when Sif, who was seated in between Thor and Loki, leaned over to look at me. She asked, “Was the Lady Stjarnavetr excited to accompany His Highness tonight?”

The way she said “Lady” made it evident to all those around us that she did not respect the title that the queen had bestowed upon me when I first came to Asgard, only so that I could serve under her.

Before I could respond, Baldr, who was sitting very nearly across from Loki and I, noted, “It must be quite the change from the queen’s women’s table.”

I gave a little nod and said, addressing Baldr and not Sif, “Yes, it is very different.”

Baldr laughed, though I did not think what I had said had been funny at all, but I did not think his laugh was necessarily a derisive laugh, either.

Sif pressed her lips together, I noticed then, but she did not say anything else.

Just a few minutes later, I was pushing the food around on my plate, trying to be inconspicuous, when I was once again pulled out of my quiet reprieve.

A voice said, “You look familiar, Lady.”

I looked up and saw who it was that was speaking. It was the Ljósálfr ambassador, who sat across the table and down a ways, in front of the Allfather and the queen. He had to raise his voice for me to hear him and I felt my skin grow warm when many of the others stopped to listen.

“She is but one of the queen’s handmaidens,” Sif interjected, as if attempting to point out my lack of standing.

“No, no,” he dismissed, giving a little shake of his head, causing the jewels in his pointed ears to twinkle. He was a broad man with a large and finely-combed beard and presented a jovial, if not obnoxious, demeanor. And now that I thought on it, he looked familiar to me as well, though I did not say anything.

He persisted, “I have seen you elsewhere, Lady. You are from Asgard?”

“No,” I answered, feeling an uneasiness stirring in the pit of my stomach. “I am from Vanaheim.”

He squinted at me from across the table and then, suddenly, he grinned widely and his eyes lit up. “Ah! Oh, yes! I have seen you before! You are—no, no, you were the Van prince’s mistress!”

There was a beat of silence and I could discern how Loki stiffened next to me.

And now I remembered where I had seen the Ljósálfr ambassador. He must have been ambassador in Vanaheim for a time, because I could recall seeing him there conducting official business.

But for now, I could only stare at the ambassador, astounded that he had actually just said that out loud in front of everybody. I wanted to sink into the floor for my humiliation, for I could not very well tell him to be quiet.

And then, much to my mortification, he obliviously continued. “And now a Lady in Asgard!” he exclaimed, sounding terribly impressed, eyes traveling downward to take in my appearance. “And accompanying another prince now, and in his colors, no less! My, my, you have come far, Lady.”

I looked down at my plate, my face burning and lips parted in shock.

And then I heard Loki interrupt, his voice rippling with irritation, “It would be wise, Ambassador, to keep your—”

“Come now, Your Highness!” said Týr suddenly, who was sitting across from us next to Baldr. He had cut Loki off before he could say anything that might potentially offend the Ljósálfr ambassador. “We’re just having a bit of fun. There’s no harm to it.”

Loki pressed his lips together, but continued staring at the ambassador anyway, his gaze venomous. But it was not as if he could actually do anything to insult or demean the ambassador from Alfheim, especially with the Allfather sitting within earshot.

And now I sank a little deeper into my chair. Nearly all within our vicinity, including the Allfather and the queen, had heard the ambassador’s comment.

I felt as if I was about to cry.

When I glanced up, past Loki and Sif and Thor, I saw with dread that the Allfather was gazing at me once again, one side of his lip slightly pulled up in what looked like distaste.

It was then that the queen said something irrelevant, trying to change the topic of conversation. I felt a twinge of gratefulness to her and remained silent for the rest of the dinner, praying that nobody, even Loki, would address me again.

The dancing could not come soon enough. After dinner when the tables and chairs on the floor were cleared, the musicians set up at the end of the hall.

Loki and I sat up at the high table for a while after the dancing had begun, for many of those who had been sitting near us vacated their seats to dance or mingle, including the Ljósálfr ambassador and his little entourage.

I felt much more comfortable with them gone, though the Allfather still sat there. I tried not to look in his general direction.

At long last, Loki turned to me and said, “Would you like to dance, Stjarna?”

“Yes,” I responded, a little too eagerly.

I almost felt on display up here and wished to leave.

Loki took my hand and led me to the floor and quickly pulled me into his arms. We began dancing, though it did nothing to alleviate my tension. After I had managed to step on Loki’s foot for a third time, he muttered, “Calm down, Stjarna. It is only dancing.”

“I am sorry,” I murmured, taking a breath and trying to focus on the steps.

Once I had fallen into the dance well enough, I looked over and saw Thor dancing with Ágaetliga. That was as far as he would promote his mistress in public. He had left her at the handmaiden’s table, where I wished Loki would have left me, for my empty chair had been calling to me nearly all the night.

__

When we reached Loki’s chambers a couple of hours later, after the banquet had finally ended, and the door was shut behind us, Loki took his helmet off and ran his fingers through his hair. I watched him as he took his cape off and hung it up in his wardrobe.

As soon as that was done, he turned and came towards me. He immediately began reaching around to take the metal corset around my middle off.

I pulled away from him. “What are you doing?”

He looked at me and said, “Is something wrong?”

I stared at him incredulously. “Yes. Something is wrong, Loki.”

Had he already forgotten what the Ljósálfr ambassador had said about me in front of all the others? He had seemed irritated at the time, but now acted as if nothing had happened.

He raised his eyebrows when I remained silent, as if encouraging me to hurry up and say something so we could move past this and he could continue undressing me.

So I continued, my voice smaller, “You—you humiliated me tonight, Loki.”

Suddenly, Loki did not look so passive. He almost looked angry and he took a step towards me. “What did you say?”

“You embarrassed me tonight,” I repeated, my voice even smaller now.

Now his voice was harsh and tinged with annoyance. “Pray tell how I embarrassed you, Stjarna.”

“I did—I did not want to accompany you—”

“Oh, Stjarna,” he sighed, almost in exasperation, as he closed his eyes. I bit my lip, feeling as if he had just dismissed my worries, reduced them as if they were of no importance.

“I did not want to, Loki,” I said, raising my voice. “I told you! I told you I did not want to come and see what happened tonight! See what the Ljósálfr ambassador said about me!”

Loki rolled his eyes and scoffed. “He is a fool and you should not pay attention—”

“No!” I cried. “It is not just him. It is the others, as well. They... they do not see me as their equal, Loki.”

“So? They treat any below their station with disdain.” When I only stared at him, he sighed again. “Stjarna, this is foolish—”

“No, it is not foolish,” I responded, hardening my voice. “It is not foolish to me. You... you put me on display tonight, Loki. You dressed me up as you might a pet and showed me off as your... your whore.”

“Lover,” he countered, making it sound prettier but not denying it.

“Mistress,” I insisted.

“Reduce it however you would, Stjarna. But know that I care not what anybody else thinks. And you should not either.”

When I shook my head, Loki looked incensed. “What, would you have me take one of those other women? That one you kept talking about?”

“Gullhár?”

“Whatever the fuck her name is, it doesn’t matter. I would take you because you are mine.”

“But I am not highborn. I am but a commoner and you deign to lie with me—”

Loki snapped, “Deign to lie with you? I do not deign to lie with you—”

“Yes, you do! I am naught but a Vana commoner.”

“Mother raised your station—”

“I am still a commoner. I am... nothing, and—”

“Not to me,” Loki said, his voice suddenly hard. He took my chin between his fingers and lifted my head up. Though he still looked angry, his voice was softer. “Stjarna, it does not matter what you are to any of them. Should it not only matter what you are to me? You are not nothing to me.”

“What am I, then?” I whispered.

“You are my lover.”

I stared up at him, eyes swimming with tears.

Loki took my face in his hands and kissed my forehead. I leaned into his touch and he moved to wrap his arms around me. As I melted into his embrace and pressed my face into him, I felt much more comforted.

Loki was right. It did not matter what the others thought of us. Loki obviously did not care because he was confident that their opinions did not matter. I wished I could have been as self-assured as him, but it was difficult, especially when I recalled how his father had looked at me tonight, as if displeased that his son should dare to have his mistress up there with them all at the high table.

Nonetheless, Loki, in his no-nonsense way had, as usual, helped to at least partially alleviate my worries. For that, I was grateful to him.

We stood like that for a long moment before I finally pulled away.

It was when I looked up at Loki that he took my hands in his and leaned down to kiss me gently on the mouth. He slowly deepened the kiss as he ran his hands up my arm, his fingers lingering over the serpent bangle. He briefly stroked my bare shoulders before going behind, beneath my veil of hair and the cape-like drapery, to undo the metal corset around my middle. This time I held still and let him. Once it was off, he set it on the nearby table and reached behind me again to undo the delicate lacings of my gown.

I held onto Loki as he almost patiently untied the laces. Once my gown was loose, I leaned back and Loki gingerly pulled the straps down over my shoulders. The dress fell easily now and pooled at my feet in a deep green, nearly diaphanous puddle.

I stood before him naked now, save for the bangle, my knee-high gossamer stockings, and shoes.

When I reached up to pull the bangle off, Loki stopped me. He said, his voice barely above a whisper, “No, leave it on.”

I felt his large hands on my hips, then, pulling me towards him. I let out a little gasp when his armor pressed against my bare skin, for it was cold. Loki lowered his face and kissed me on the lips, holding me tight against him.

After a moment he broke the kiss and pressed his cheek to mine. He whispered into my ear, ruffling my hair with his warm breath, “Go lie on the bed, Stjarna.”

He slowly released me and I turned and went to his bed. I carefully peeled my stockings off and took my shoes off before climbing in and sitting in the middle. I sat up and watched Loki as he undressed, standing by his table as he took his armor off. He did not appear to be in a hurry, but I felt like our previous conversation had lulled things a bit.

After he was completely divested of armor and middle layers, Loki reached up, grabbed the back of his collar, and pulled his tunic off. Then he kicked his boots off and unlaced his pants and pulled them down. Now he stood naked, his skin lit up white by the pale light coming in from his balcony. I stared at him, my gaze drifting over his body, so lean and sinuous and hard in the cold light.

Then Loki turned and came over to the bed and I watched his face as he crawled in after me, a small smile playing at the edge of his lips.

I fell back onto the bed and reached up to wrap my arms around the back of his neck as he settled his body between my legs. He kissed me and I felt him run his fingers down my arm and over the serpent bangle.

“Do you like it?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” I replied, bringing my legs up to wrap them around his slim waist.

Loki merely looked at me for a long moment before breathing, “You are so beautiful, Stjarna.”

When I only smiled at him, he smiled, too, though the smile did not reach his eyes. Just as I went to ask him why he looked like that, he dipped his head to kiss my chest. He began pushing himself down my body, kissing my skin, caressing it with his lips and tongue, as he went. My heart began to speed up and suddenly the hollow ache between my legs seemed a hundred times intensified in anticipation of Loki’s face between them.

I drew my legs up as Loki lay on his stomach between my thighs, his face so wonderfully close to my most intimate parts. He slipped both of his arms under my legs and spread his fingers on the tops of my thighs, stroking the skin with his thumbs.

I propped myself up on my forearms and looked down at him. His eyes flickered up to meet my gaze and he smiled at me right before he lowered his head and I felt his lips on me, felt his tongue slipping so easily, so languidly, through my already soaking folds. The marvelous feeling of his mouth on me spread slowly through my body like a warm cloud and I let my head fall back as I extended an arm and combed my fingers through Loki’s soft hair. As I slowly relaxed onto the bed, I reached with my free hand to grasp another fistful of Loki’s hair, allowing myself to sink into this blissful oblivion.

There was no hurry tonight.

Loki took his time in bringing me to peak. He would occasionally move to my inner thighs and kiss and suck the soft skin there, licking and caressing with his tongue. I liked that well enough, but all thoughts were driven from my head, all, if any, inhibition lost, when he pressed his face into me. He would roll his tongue up the entirety of my sex, collecting my desire in his mouth, sporadically drop town to tease my entrance, and explore every fold and crease as if he had not done it hundreds of times before.

Soon I was twisting on the bed, my entire body alight with pleasure, thrumming with this near euphoria, and Loki did not hold me down as he usually did. He was allowing me to writhe beneath him and within the span of a few minutes, I had managed to push myself nearly to the edge of the bed, and Loki had come with me, driven past all coherent thought for the incessant and delightful ministrations of his tongue between my legs. Now my head and shoulders were hanging off the bed and I was panting loudly, my heavy breaths interrupted every so often by his name, gasped so lovingly and so despairingly.

And despite my coming undone beneath him, Loki was still going about it all so agonizingly calmly. I was moving my hips in frantic little circles now, pushing back against his face, but he only responded to my movements with movements of his own. When I lifted my hips up off the bed, he rose up on his elbows with me, holding tight to me by my thighs, never for a moment breaking away.

Soon I could feel it beginning in the pit of my stomach and Loki was still pushing deeper into me, unhurriedly devouring me with his teeth and tongue, having cleverly, tormentingly, abstained from use of his wonderful fingers.

And now I was rising to it, so mercifully close to falling, and I was panting and whimpering his name now, drowning in his name. I tightened my fingers in his hair and could not keep my hips still; I lifted them once again up off the bed, legs trembling, muscles weak, and he rose up with me, pressing deeper, opening his mouth wider, and I arched my back and sucked in a shaky breath, quivering on the edge. But then, abruptly, Loki pulled away.

My eyes flew open and my lower half fell back onto the bed and I cried out. The cruel and sudden lack of stimulation almost hurt; I had been so close to it and yet not close enough. It was falling away now, too far to reach again, and I struggled to sit up to look at him, but I could barely move, let alone voice my anguish.

Loki rose up on his knees just as I managed to lift my head, which felt incredibly heavy, to look down at him. He grabbed my hips and dragged me towards him before falling over me, supporting himself on his forearms on either side of my body.

He was smiling playfully—wickedly—up at me, his nose and chin and lips glistening. He lowered his head and began languidly kissing my belly and abdomen, leaving little slick, openmouthed kisses on my damp skin as he made his way up. I let my head fall back again as he pressed his hard body against mine and I could feel him hard and eager between my legs, but he made no move to come into me, which frustrated me.

I reached up and ran my fingers through his tangled hair, lifting my head to kiss him lightly on the mouth. But he moved his head to the side and kissed my cheek and jaw and neck, moving down until he was kissing the top of my shoulder.

“Loki,” I murmured, lifting my legs and squeezing them on his narrow hips, urging him to finish me. But instead of doing that, he pulled away from me, grabbed my hips once again, and flipped me over on the bed. Moments later, he was hovering over me, moving my hair out of the way, draping it over my shoulder.

He began kissing the back of my shoulder, licking and nipping. He breathed my name and rubbed his nose on my skin and then I felt fleeting pain as he bit down, taking my skin between his teeth. He took another bite, fuller this time, and the pain sent rivulets of pleasure straight to the already throbbing spot between my legs. And then Loki slowly eased his grip on me and I felt the warm wetness of his tongue as he licked the bite mark he had surely made.

When I whispered his name again, he immediately lifted up and moved behind me again. Then I felt his hands on my waist, pulling me backwards and up. I shakily rose up on all fours now, my legs still trembling from my almost release. I was hurting, wishing he would satisfy this ache that he had so suddenly left neglected. But he did not keep me waiting long.

Kneeling behind me, Loki, almost patiently, ran his hands down my sides until he settled them on my hips. He gently nudged my legs apart with his knee and then I could feel him between my legs, moving slowly back and forth, coating himself in the sticky wetness pooled between my thighs. Letting out a sigh, I bit my lip and closed my eyes, anticipating him.

I let my head fall forward, trying to concentrate on his presence behind me, his burning touch on my burning skin. And then he was at my entrance, pushing in, and I let out a breathy moan as he slid so easily into me. I squeezed my eyes shut and dug my nails into the crimson bedcovers.

Loki paused and I could hear his labored breathing punctuating the still air. He stayed there for a moment, buried deep inside me, before he slowly, so excruciatingly slowly, began moving.

Though his strokes were long and languid, every time his pelvis hit my backside, pushing me forward, a jolt shuddered through my body and I tightened my grip on the covers. I could hear the slick sounds of our joined bodies when Loki moved, every time our bodies came together. It felt so wonderful and I could not focus on anything but him moving inside me, each pass stoking the previously blazing fire in my lower belly higher and higher once again.

Without breaking his languorous rhythm, Loki took a fistful of my hair and gently pulled me backwards so I was kneeling upright. He let go of my hair and placed one hand on my belly to hold me steady as he continued moving inside me. His other arm he wrapped around me and placed his hand over my right breast. I let my head fall back against the front of his shoulder as he ran his thumb over my nipple and played with it between his fingers.

My breath, already shaky, caught in my throat when his other hand traveled down and his fingers slipped into my slick folds. Just as he began circling the bud at the top of my sex with his fingers, he pressed his lips to the top of my shoulder. I could feel his breath hot on my skin, feel him bare his teeth and bite down so hard that I whimpered.

I put my hands over his, both on my breast and in between my now trembling legs. In some small part of my mind, I knew what he was doing and why he was doing this—to drive all previous worries, all thoughts of inadequacy from my mind, to fill it only with him, to fill me only with him.

And then through this veil of painful pleasure, I heard Loki say my name, voice breathless and edged with what sounded like desperation. I turned my head, seeking his lips out, and we kissed deeply. Just as I bit his bottom lip, he pulled away and pressed his face into the back of my shoulder, breaths coming unevenly. He withdrew his hands and I gasped as he pushed me forward so I was once again on all fours. Loki took me by the hips and his seemingly ceaseless pace increased; his rhythm became harder, faster, and he dug his nails into the soft flesh of my hips to hold me tight.

He was thrusting hard into me now and it was hitting something deep inside me, sending these frantic and powerful waves up through me. My arms were shaking and I bent my elbows and leaned forward and pressed my cheek into his bed, eyes closed and a tiny smile on my parted lips, even as I held onto the bed to ground myself as he thrust hard into me over and over.

And if I had been near to reaching my peak before, now it was closer and just within reach. My breaths were coming quickly, matching Loki’s, and every other one broken by a cry or gasp or his name when he buried himself fully in me.

When he thrust into me just once more, my release crashed through my body. I clenched my fists and curled my toes, all of the muscles in my body gone hard and taut. I squeezed my eyes shut and opened my mouth wide in a silent scream, unable to even make a sound as the waves rolled through me, causing my muscles to tremble and my body to shake.

And still, he kept thrusting into me, faster now, more erratic, taking me higher past that peak I thought I had reached, and it was too much now, too overwhelming, and I nearly screamed, my entire body so tight it hurt, stars bursting behind my eyelids, and the waves kept coming, over and over, and my body was paralyzed in this nearly painful ecstasy.

Loki found his release not moments later; he came hard inside me, cried out and leaned forward, as if he could barely hold himself up. He knelt rigid behind me, his cry having devolved now into heavy and rapid panting. And though I could not see him behind me, I knew what he looked like, that visage of near desperation, that look of pure ecstasy plastered on his face—his eyes closed, mouth hanging open in a silent groan, brows furrowed and face lifted up, body frozen as he spilled himself inside of me.

We were both still like that for a long moment, with nothing to be heard but our heavy breaths, nothing to feel but our bodies coming down together from this mutual high. And then slowly, my body unfurled and it was as if I had been holding Loki up. When I let my body fall onto the bed, Loki fell, too, nearly collapsing on top of me. He lay there limply, his head resting on the side of mine. I could feel his powerful heartbeat against my bare back, racing in his chest, and I could feel my own, nearly matching his own frantic rhythm.

Everything was so hot and I felt stifled—the covers beneath me, Loki on top of me, both of us bathed in sweat. But I did not move. Though he was heavy on me, I loved it. I had always loved his weight on top of me.

And still, I could feel the faint, lingering pulses in my lower half slowly fading, getting further and further apart, still around him inside me. I shakily lifted my arm and touched the back of his head, right by my face. I felt the dampness of his hair, how he turned his head when I touched him. He reached up, almost sluggishly, and took my hand in his and lightly kissed my fingertips. He rubbed his nose and lips affectionately on my open palm and then, with a slight groan, lifted up and out of me and rolled onto his back next to me.

He turned his head to look at me. He looked tired, but satisfied—he had a little smile on his lips. He shifted so he was lying on his side facing me and reached over to brush the little hairs sticking to my face back. Loki let his fingers linger on my cheek before he moved them down to my shoulder, down over the gold serpent twined around my arm.

Then he delicately traced one of the bite marks left by his teeth on my shoulder. I watched his lips as he murmured the runes I had taught him on Midgard and I could feel my skin knitting back together, this pleasant warmth emanating from his fingertips. He did the same to my other shoulder, to the other bite mark he had made, before letting his hand come to rest on the small of my back.

I reached up and lightly touched his lips with my fingertips and when he smiled at me, exposing his teeth and crinkling the corners of his eyes, the very first thing that came to my mind was that I loved him.

I had opened my mouth, the words already so eager and on the tip of my tongue, before I barely caught myself.

And now Loki closed his eyes and wrapped his arm around me and pulled me close to him. He pushed one of his legs up between mine, trying to get as close as possible, and I only could stare at his face, astounded at myself, wondering as to this wonderful warmth I felt blooming in my chest.

For some reason, I wanted so badly to tell him, but instead of voicing this sudden and rather unanticipated thought, I looked down and nestled further into his warm embrace, pressing my face into his chest.

I wondered to myself what Loki would do if I said that.

Somehow, I did not think he would say it back to me, though merely the thought of him telling me that he loved me sent a thrill of elation through me. But it should not have excited me like that, I knew, and the thought that it did filled me with trepidation.

I lifted my head and planted a light kiss on Loki’s chin.

“Loki?” I whispered.

He tiredly opened his eyes and looked down at me.

“Hmm?”

I swallowed and opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

“Yes?” he pressed when I remained silent.

“It... it is nothing,” I said quietly, once again burying my face in his chest.

“Are you sure?” he asked, reaching up to sleepily stroke my hair.

“Yes,” I murmured, feeling dreadfully uncertain. “I am sure.”


	33. Part I - Chapter 33

Loki

“Tense, brother?” Thor snickered as I picked myself up off the ground.

“What gave it away?” I grumbled, dusting myself off and picking my sword back up from where I had dropped it when Thor had hit me.

Thor and I had been training together for about an hour now, waiting for Father to come observe and assess us for the upcoming tournament in less than a month. I was dreading his appearance. I was not a bad fighter, I knew, but it seemed that when Father was watching me with that expressionless gaze, I could hardly hit anything I aimed my throwing knives at and forgot how to hold a sword.

But it was not as if I liked using swords, anyway. Though I was not totally incompetent with a sword, they felt awkward in my hand. I much preferred using smaller weapons, but my throwing knives would not be allowed in the tournament, since technically I could end my opponent with a well-aimed throw within the first minute of the fight’s beginning. It was deemed unfair, which I thought ridiculous, so I had to use these large, unwieldy swords instead of those weapons which I was most comfortable with.

But Thor thought it was funny. He could only laugh at my belligerence.

“You need not be so anxious, Loki,” he said for the sixth time, trying to fight back a smile. “Father is only coming to watch us this morning.”

“Yes, well, you are never the one he berates,” I retorted, reaching up to touch my left eyebrow. It was stinging and when I drew my hand away, I saw a spot of blood on my fingertip. Thor must have cut or hit me and split the skin.

I touched the cut and murmured the runes and felt the warmth of my seidr in my fingertips, quickly healing the little wound. Thor watched me silently, waiting for me to finish. He was no stranger to my magic; he had seen me use it many times before and he did not react to it, unless I used it while we were training.

When I finished, Thor resumed our little spat. “I’m sure it won’t be so bad this time.”

“You say that every single time and it is always bad.”

“It will be different this time,” he dismissed. And then, “Come now! Another spar.”

He braced himself, sword held at the ready, as I wearily took my stance.

Thor and I trained for another half hour before Father finally showed up.

The training yard became silent as he walked and those nearest to him bowed as he passed. Both Thor and I bowed, as well, when he came to a stop in front of us.

“My sons,” he said with the barest hint of a smile. “I hope you’ve not been training too hard this morning.”

“Not at all, Father,” Thor replied with a smug smile.

I did not say anything.

“Well, let us get on with it,” Father declared. He climbed the steps out of the pit, where Thor and I had been standing, and sat in a chair that had been brought for him. He looked down at us, waiting.

I swallowed as Thor and I took up our positions, standing across from one another. We nodded briefly to each other before taking our stances.

And it was just as I had suspected.

For the next hour and a half, Thor proceeded to thoroughly beat me, besting me in nearly every spar, leaving me on my back or on hands and knees in the dirt. I would have almost asked him to take it easy on me, for suddenly he seemed much more enthused with Father watching, but I dared not say anything like that with Father possibly being able to hear.

I was able to beat Thor a few times, but not enough for Father to be impressed. I also abstained from use of my seidr completely; Father very much disliked it when I used my seidr for any reason, most especially when fighting. If I had been using it, though, I am sure I would have been able to beat Thor many more times than I actually managed.

At last, when Thor had thrown me to the ground for the tenth time and my cheek was pressed into the hard-packed earth, Father allowed us a quick break.

As Thor and I stood around the water barrel, and I trying to ignore Thor’s idiotic grin, I looked across the yard and saw a page approaching Father, who was still sitting in that chair. Father leaned over slightly to hear the page and then I saw his face subtly fall. He gave a terse nod and the page scurried away.

“Did you see that?” I asked Thor.

“See what?” Thor said absently, somehow managing to spill water all down his front.

I rolled my eyes. “The page! Do you not pay attention to anything?”

“No, I didn’t see him,” he responded, unperturbed.

“I think Father just received some bad news.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing. Come on.”

I followed Thor back into the pit, but Father seemed distracted now. As Thor and I fought, and I managed to get him onto the ground and my foot on his back, Father barely seemed to notice, much to my displeasure.

Soon after, though, Father finally said, “Enough.”

Thor and I collected ourselves and stood there as Father mused for a bit.

And then he began his assessment of us, starting with me.

He began listing off a myriad of things I could have done differently or could have drastically improved on, looking incredibly stoic the entire time he was speaking. He did not praise me at all or make mention of how I had surprisingly bested Thor more than a few times. I must have looked somewhat ungrateful because right before he began with Thor, he said in that calm, yet chillingly unemotional voice, “Perhaps, Loki, if you did not waste so much time with that Vana harlot and focused instead on your princely responsibilities, you might have improved since my last visit.”

I stared up at him in a stunned silence.

When Thor snickered, Father shot him a withering look and he quickly stopped laughing.

“You are no exception, Thor,” he snapped, his voice suddenly so cold, so sharp, that even Thor stilled and I heard him swallow in nervousness. “You both have better things to be doing than debasing yourselves with the queen’s women.”

Both Thor and I were silent, sharing this mutual, angry astonishment that Father should so easily, so simultaneously, insult both of our mistresses. I felt enmity that he should speak so lowly of Stjarna, implying to me his true feelings about my relationship with her, and to all those around us, for it had not been only us who had heard Father say that; many of the Einherjar had heard as well, for Father had not bothered to lower his voice at all.

Father then continued on with his assessment, criticizing Thor, but praising his techniques and strategies, as well.

The entire time, I gazed down or off to the side, incensed that Father should praise Thor so mightily, but not me. Though I did not have the same fighting style as Thor, I still was a capable fighter, I knew. If it had not been against Thor, I could have probably bested any opponent currently in the yard. It seemed that I could never do anything good enough for him and when I did manage to, it still was not enough.

When Father finally finished, and Thor was once again beaming like an absolute fucking moron, Father said, “Come up here. I have ill news.”

I looked at Thor briefly before following him up the steps towards Father, who stood up as we approached.

Once we stood in front of him, he said unceremoniously, “King Aldregimildr of Vanaheim has died.”

Both Thor and I were quiet, waiting.

“That fool son of his is king now—or will be within the week for his coronation.”

“Why does this concern us?” Thor asked idiotically.

Father gazed levelly at Thor, but addressed him nonetheless. “Aldregimildr has left a mess for his son in Vanaheim, as well as much unfinished business with Asgard and with me. It is likely that Valdrlund will come here to... sort things out. He will be obligated to come, in fact.”

Immediately, I felt apprehension for Stjarna. She would not be pleased at all to hear of this and, to tell the truth, I, too, was less than pleased.

“What sort of unfinished business did Aldregimildr leave with you?” Thor inquired.

“It is none of your concern right now,” Father replied, though not condescendingly.

“When is he coming?” I interjected.

“Not for a while, likely. A month or so, at least. Valdrlund still must deal with all of the domestic problems left to him by his father. But I must send a messenger to Vanaheim soon.”

When Thor and I only looked at him, he sighed. “That is all for this morning, my sons. You are dismissed.”

Thor and I bowed to him and he inclined his head towards us and then turned to leave. When I rose up, I stared after him, unsure of whether to be upset with how he had reprimanded me or more worried for Stjarna.

After Father had gone, the yard quickly came back to life. All around could be heard the shouts of the sparring Einherjar and their clanging swords.

Thor turned to me and said, “I shall be excited to see the new Van king.”

I did not reply.

“Who do you think would win in a fight? Me or him?”

“Most definitely him,” I answered, beginning to walk to put my gear up, as our training session for this morning was over.

“What?” Thor scoffed, clearly affronted.

“If Frey’s style of fighting is any indication of the general technique of the Vanir, then no, I do not think you’d win. You’ve had trouble against Frey in the past, anyway. And we’ve heard talk of Valdrlund before. He’s more obsessed with training than you are.”

“You’ve no confidence in me, brother,” Thor laughed.

I only rolled my eyes. I truly did not care to imagine Thor and the Van king fighting. I could only think now of Stjarna and how she would react when she found out that Valdrlund was coming to Asgard.

__

Stjarnavetr

I could think of nothing but Loki all day.

I knew his observation by the Allfather was this morning and I was worried for him. He had been nervous the night before and this morning before we had parted I had kissed him and wished him luck, but he had already seemed distracted, though he had tried his best to hide it.

I hoped he had done well, but I would not find out until later tonight after dinner.

In the meantime, I had visited with Hirdakyn today, for I had not gone to see him in quite a while.

All through the years, I had kept up a friendship with the odd little archivist. When I did visit him, I would spend nearly the entire day in the archives with him. He still went on trips to other realms, including Midgard, and he would tell me of his travels and show me all the new objects he had collected in his most recent wanderings.

In part, I had also come to visit Hirdakyn today thinking that he might be able to distract me, for I had been virtually unable to think of anything but Loki this past week. Ever since my revelation the night of the banquet, ever since I had acknowledged the fact that I loved him, Loki had ceaselessly managed to pervade my mind.

It almost frightened me, for I had never before experienced these feelings, so strongly it seemed, for anybody—not even in my century with Valdrlund, even at our best, even in the beginning when he had been good to me.

I did not think I knew what love was, anyway. Valdrlund had always told me that he was in love with me, but I did not think he was. After he would beat me, as he healed me, he would apologize to me and tell me he loved me. But I did not understand then how that could be love. I had never felt love before and thought perhaps that I should never feel it, but I knew what love was not and it was not what Valdrlund had shown to me in my time as his mistress.

I thought that Valdrlund had ruined it all for me—intimacy, my sense of safety, my capacity to trust—in that century.

But he had not.

Whatever love was, I was certain now that I felt it with Loki.

Loki had managed to bring me up and out of my darkest place all those years ago, had helped to put Vanaheim and the horrors of my past behind me. He had listened to me when I needed it, held me when I needed it. I had not wanted to live in the past anymore, to have it control me, and so I had bared my heart and soul to him, given myself to him in the only way I knew how. And despite those few days of uncertainty afterwards, when after it had all fallen into place and I had at last decided to give myself to him completely, I could not have been happier.

And still I was happy.

Loki’s kisses still sent rivulets of pleasure through me and when he smiled at me I could not help but to smile back. Merely being in his presence gladdened me. When he held me close, when he held my hand and pressed his lips to mine, it felt as if there could be nothing better. When we lay together, I felt it more than simply the physical joining of our bodies in that moment. When afterwards we would kiss and he would enfold me in his arms and murmur sweet nothings into my ear, it seemed there was nothing I could want more. Valdrlund had never instilled that sense of contentment in me. When we had lain together, I had never felt anything but the physicality of it all, while with Loki, his voice, his touch, his very essence, seemed to permeate my skin and my mind and it was only him, always only ever him.

Valdrlund and I had never just lain on his bed, each other’s company being enough for the other. If there had been nothing I could offer him, be it my body or presence for something else, I was not worth his time and he would not wish me to be around him. But Loki enjoyed my company immensely—he had told me many times before—how he liked it when we simply lay in silence. Sometimes it seemed the silence went deeper than if we had been talking or laughing together. And oh, how Loki loved making me laugh. I had never laughed with Valdrlund as I did with Loki, but then he had never truly endeavored to make me laugh, or to put my pleasure above his. It was always his pleasure, always his well-being, he was most concerned for. My comfort and my pleasure always came second or even third, but it was not that way with Loki. I had never known this type of adulation, this type of affection, and I with my naïve heart could not help but to be so taken with it all.

And all through these years, I had never looked at another and thought that it could be better—that I could be happier than I was now. I had never even considered another, never thought for a moment that for now, there could be any other but Loki. And my initial fears, my wondering as to whether Loki would eventually stray from me, had remained unfounded. He had yet to give me reason to suspect, but I had not wanted to suspect, anyway. I hated even thinking of it and so had contented myself with the fact that it was just the two of us.

Yet, deep down, I knew all of it was foolish, my admitting to myself that I loved him. I knew I should not have let myself get swept away, for I knew nothing would ever come of Loki and I, but I could not stop it. I could not help the warmth that I felt in my chest when he smiled at me or that innate sense of joy that seemed to travel down to my toes and ignite me when he kissed me.

“—Lady?”

I glanced up, suddenly drawn out of my little reverie.

Hirdakyn was staring at me from across the table with those wide and vital eyes.

“I am sorry?” I asked, straightening up.

Hirdakyn gazed curiously at me. “You seem distracted, Lady.”

“I apologize, Hirdakyn,” I said, reaching to take the cracked bowl he had been holding out for me to take.

I chastised myself. I had come to visit Hirdakyn today in hopes of keeping Loki off of my mind, if only for a little while, and yet still could do naught but think of him.

“I was thinking of Loki,” I admitted.

“Ah, the prince,” Hirdakyn smiled.

“Yes. He... he is being observed today,” I clarified, not wishing to outright lie to Hirdakyn. I had indeed been thinking of Loki, but not necessarily about his observation.

Hirdakyn inquired about it and I explained to him about the upcoming tournament and how Loki and Thor were being observed by the Allfather this morning to evaluate them. Hirdakyn did not seem too interested, but I could understand why. Hirdakyn lived here and did not concern himself with things he considered frivolous, like banquets and tournaments. He was content among all of his books and artifacts.

“He will do well, I am sure,” was all Hirdakyn said after I had enlightened him. “The prince is a good boy.”

I laughed, running my fingers over the broken bowl. “Yes, I think so, too.”

Hirdakyn had nothing bad to say about Loki at all. He loved Loki and it was apparent—he praised him constantly. I suppose that made me feel a little better about my newly discerned feelings.

I stayed with Hirdakyn the rest of the day, talking with him of his latest journey, and left him when dinnertime began to approach.

During dinner, I tried to ascertain Loki’s mood all the way from the handmaiden’s table. From what I could see of him, he did not appear to be happy, but he also did not look to be terribly upset. But Loki was exceedingly adept at masking his emotions when he wished it, so I would not be able to truly tell until I went to his chambers that night.

And when the time came and I entered his rooms and went into his bedchamber, I saw him sitting in one of the chairs before his fire. I took the chair across from him and asked with a small smile how his observation had gone today, though already gleaning from his expression that it had not gone well at all.

He tore his gaze away from the fire and looked at me with those clear green eyes. “Not good.”

My smile fell. “What happened?”

“Father reproved me with much avidity while Thor received almost naught but praise. Apparently, there was not one thing I did right. As fucking usual.”

I was quiet for a long moment and then whispered, “I am sorry, Loki.”

I felt awful for him. I knew Loki had been dreading this morning for quite a while and it had turned out just as he had expected it would. I was aware of the fact that Loki often strove to impress and satisfy his father, but hardly ever was he seemingly able to accomplish it.

Wanting desperately to comfort him, for I hated that look on his face, I got up out of the chair and went to stand next to him. I took his hand in mine and lightly tugged at him. “Would you like to go to bed?”

Loki only looked up at me for another moment before rousing himself and standing up. I took him to his bed and he sat on the edge. I knelt in front of him and he looked down at me, head tilted slightly, as I unlaced his boots and pulled them off of his feet.

I stood back up and before I could pull my own shoes off, Loki leaned forward and wrapped his arms around my middle. He drew me towards him, spreading his legs so I could stand between them. He pressed his face into me as I lifted my legs, one by one, and slipped my shoes off behind me.

When I was finished, I stood still, my hand on the back of his head. I stayed like that for a long moment, allowing him to hold me, before I gently pulled away. He looked up at me as I began undressing and watched me. After I was completely disrobed, I reached to undress Loki. He had already shed his outer layers immediately after dinner and so now I only had to take his tunic and pants off.

Once we were both naked, Loki pulled me towards him and we settled ourselves onto the bed. We made love slowly and tenderly, our movements more languorous than impassioned, but no less affectionate, and after we had spent ourselves, we lay side by side under the covers. I was on my back and he was lying against me with his head resting on the front of my shoulder; he had his arm on my front and I was lightly caressing it with one hand while the other absentmindedly stroked his hair, as he often did with mine.

We lay in silence for a long while, but I did not mind it. I had never minded lying together like this, for simply being with him brought me great joy. That was another thing about love, I suspected. Though, I remembered there having been a time when I had hated merely being in the same room as him. But that had been so long ago. I could not imagine feeling such hatred for him again.

Just as I was drifting off, lulled into sleep by the lingering warmth from our coupling, and my head falling to the side against Loki’s, Loki murmured, “Stjarna?”

I slowly opened my tired eyes. “Yes?”

“I received news today,” he murmured.

“What news?” I asked, feeling a pang of apprehension for how he had said it.

Loki tilted his head up to look at me and said soberly, “King Aldregimildr has died.”

I was silent for a long moment. And then I replied absently, softly, “Has he.”

Aldregimildr had been so old. His death came not unexpectedly; he had been quite ill and it was amazing that he had held on for so long. I remembered the beginnings of his illness even before I had been exiled from Vanaheim.

But I did not feel anything for his death, though he had been instrumental in my downfall. My strongest memory of him was when he had summoned me to him and demanded to know if it was true that I was with child by his son. When I had admitted that I was, I remembered how he had come down off his throne and grabbed me by the hair, despite his ailment, and screamed and cursed at me, even spit on me.

“Valdrlund is king,” Loki said then, bringing me out of my unhappy recollections.

Valdrlund’s name no longer incited in me panic or fear. Only a mild misery. Valdrlund and the memory of what he had done to me had gradually, but no less painlessly, faded to the recesses of my mind over the years. There had been no room for him or those dark memories these past years with Loki such a happy constant in my life.

But the thought that he was king now sickened me. He had been bad enough as a prince.

When I was silent, simply staring ahead, Loki said, “He is coming to Asgard.”

And then suddenly, my disconsolate passivity gave way to that panic that had apparently been lying dormant.

“What?” I nearly cried.

Loki, hearing the agitation in my voice, rose up on his arms to look down at me. Before he could say anything, though, I quickly sat up and said, my voice rising with dismay, “Why is he coming here? When?”

“Stjarna, calm down,” Loki urged, trying to mollify me.

But he could not. Just the thought of Valdrlund coming here, of him even being in the same realm as me, the very prospect of my possibly seeing him again, absolutely terrified me.

I felt a dreadful sense of foreboding and just as I went to speak again, Loki put his hand on my cheek and forced me to look at him.

“Stjarna—”

“I don’t want him to come here, Loki,” I despaired, feeling my eyes burn as the tears came. “I don’t want him to come here, I don’t—”

“I know,” he said softly, but authoritatively, cutting me off. He stroked my cheek with his thumb, holding my gaze. “I know.”

“But why would he come here?” I whimpered, trying desperately to rein in my dread.

Loki spoke soothingly. “I know not. Father said something about unfinished business with Asgard and him left by Aldregimildr.”

“I don’t—I don’t want him to come here,” I repeated with a shake of my head, as if that might somehow keep him away.

Loki said, “Stjarna, you must believe that I’ll not let anything happen if he does come.”

I was about to ask what he meant, but then he said, small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, “Have I not killed for you before?”

I raised my eyebrows, but quickly realized he was joking, for Loki could not very well touch Valdrlund, him being a king and a foreign one at that. But despite my overwhelming anxiety, I managed to crack a smile.

“I won’t let anything happen,” Loki continued, more seriously this time. “And if... if he does come here, Stjarna, you do not have to see him. I’ll make it so you do not have to see him at all.”

I thought about it for a moment, trying to swallow my uncertainty. I had been gone from Vanaheim for over a decade now. Surely Valdrlund would not be interested in seeking me out if he did come here? I hoped he had forgotten about me, though that did not seem likely—I had been his for nearly a full century. I wondered if I would always, in some part, be a part of him, as I knew he would be me.

But I did not want to hide from him, though the thought of seeing him again filled me with trepidation.

I said quietly, trying to sound resolute, “No, no... I will not hide if he does come.”

“I will be here,” Loki assured me.

I managed to laugh, though it was half-hearted. “I know you will be.”

Loki smiled reassuringly at me before leaning forward to press his face into the front of my shoulder. I put my hand on the back of his head and we slowly settled back onto the bed into our previous position.

I turned my head and lightly kissed his forehead. I whispered, “You will not leave me alone if he comes, will you?”

“No,” he breathed into my skin, “I won’t.”

I closed my eyes and allowed myself to relax as Loki wrapped his arms around me and held me close.

I felt such love for him, then.

No longer could I contest it, that I was in love with him. I could not bother anymore to muse over it, to question the sense of it, the repercussions, the inevitable fall, but could only think on this wondrous feeling.

Even if he did not know it, even if I could not find it in myself to tell him, I was still, for the moment, more than content to resign this secret of mine to my heart.


	34. Part I - Chapter 34

Stjarnavetr

A few weeks later came the tournament.

The morning of, I was roused from sleep by a light fluttering sensation on my arm. I cracked my eyes open and slowly turned my head to look up.

Loki was sitting next to me on the edge of the bed, lazily running his long fingers up and down my bare arm. I noticed he was already dressed to leave, so I glanced sleepily towards the balcony and saw from the incoming light that it was still early.

I rolled onto my back and Loki smiled down at me.

“Are you leaving now?” I asked quietly. I knew that as one of the participants in the tournament today, Loki had to be down at the field earlier than the spectators, but I had not thought it would be this early.

“Yes,” he responded, moving to take my hand in his.

“You do not have to leave now, do you?” I inquired, somewhat in confusion, as he began playing with my fingers.

“No, but Thor wished to meet me down at the field a little early.”

“What for?”

He shrugged, but smiled. “I know not. Something foolish, probably.”

“You are fighting this morning, aren’t you?” I asked then, trying to remember. The first round of the tournament took place over the course of two days and I could not remember in that moment if Loki was slated to fight the first or second day.

“Yes,” he replied, confirming it for me. “I just don’t know who yet. It will be announced later. All those who are fighting this morning are to be down at the field.”

I nodded and we were both silent for a long moment. And then I said, suddenly remembering that I had meant to ask him but had forgotten, “Loki?”

“Yes?”

“Would you like a favor?”

He raised his eyebrows. “A favor?”

“Yes. A token from me for good luck? Ágaetliga said the other day that she was going to give Thor her handkerchief as a favor for luck in his fight.”

Loki laughed, “And what would you give me, Stjarna, so that I may emerge triumphant?”

I was quiet for a long moment. “Oh... I’m afraid I’ve left my handkerchief in my room. And I’ve got nothing on me at the moment.”

Loki only smirked.

“Would a good luck kiss suffice?” I inquired curiously.

“Yes,” he said with a grin. “I need not some silly little token.”

He leaned down over me and we kissed deeply. When he broke away, he pressed his forehead to mine and whispered, “Where will you be sitting, so I know where to look?”

“With the other handmaidens, near the queen,” I murmured.

He smiled. “Will you cheer for me, Stjarna?”

“I shall endeavor to cheer the loudest,” I laughed.

“I will listen for you, then.” He kissed me once more before standing up and letting go of my hand to leave.

Soon after, I left Loki’s chambers to return to my own to ready myself for the day. Perhaps an hour or so later, I made my way with the other handmaidens down to the field, all of us trailing behind the queen, where the tournament, which was a four-day affair, was to be held.

The first two days of the competition consisted of the first round, when over two dozen participants would contend to advance to the second round, which occurred on the third day. On the fourth day came the third and fourth rounds. The third round would determine which two gods would vie for the winner’s place.

The field where the event was to be held was located on the palace grounds, but was actually a ways away from the palace itself. The field was, essentially, a large oval of hard dirt and sand surrounded by a short barrier and a ring of stands where the spectators sat. The king and queen sat higher than all others in the center on one side under a gilded canopy and the handmaidens sat near or beneath the queen. I was grateful for the position, for it offered a fabulous view of the field and whatever action was going on inside the barrier, as well as relief from the heat of the day.

As we drew closer to the field, I could see off to the side a multitude of tents and benches set up where the fighters were readying themselves. I knew Loki was somewhere among them.

And suddenly, I was struck by some sense of impulsivity and I touched Gullhár’s arm and said, “Will you save me a seat?”

“Where are you going?” she asked in confusion.

“I’m just going off for a bit. I’ll be back soon.”

She nodded and I slipped away from the other handmaidens easily enough and made my way down towards the tents. As I walked, I was incredibly aware of the fact that I probably should not have been here, but I wished to see Loki once more before his fight. Besides, I think my being with Loki for so long had helped me to shed some of my past inhibitions. He had told me before, with some sense of pride, that I was not so meek as I used to be.

I soon saw a page walking to pass me and I stopped him and inquired, “If you would be so kind, could you please tell me where His Highness Prince Loki is?”

The page nodded and turned and pointed at one of the nearby tents. I thanked the page and went to the tent, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, and opened the flap and sidled in.

Loki stood in the middle with his back to me, arms held out. The last of his armor was being attached by a red-haired assistant, who gave me a puzzled look when I entered.

Before I could say anything, the boy said questioningly, “Your Highness?”

Loki looked at him briefly and then followed his gaze to where I stood unobtrusively by the entrance.

He grinned. “Stjarna. Give me just a moment.”

I nodded and took a seat on a small wooden bench where some of Loki’s gear lay. I watched in silence as the assistant quickly finished with the armor on Loki’s arms. They were the last pieces to be put on and once he was done, Loki dismissed him.

When the assistant had gone, I stood up and Loki went to put his hands on my hips, but I stopped him. I took a step back and looked him up and down, a small smile on my lips. How incredibly handsome he looked in his battle armor, I thought.

This armor was rarely used as compared to his ceremonial armor, which was more ornate, less practical, and worn only to banquets and other official ceremonies. Loki’s battle armor covered most of his body, unlike his other armor, and was a dark, burnished silver; when he moved, I could see peeks of green through the little gaps in the metal.

I had hardly ever seen Loki in his battle armor these past years, for he seldom had use of it, but it was quite a sight for me whenever he did wear it and he knew it. If I thought Loki looked imposing before, clad in his battle armor he presented an even more hard and ferocious appearance.

Loki was grinning at me, lips pressed tightly together in his amusement.

Finally, after I had had my fill, I allowed him to hold me. He leaned down, lightly kissed me on the lips, and whispered in an almost upbraiding tone, “You’re not supposed to be here.”

I smiled against his mouth as he laced his fingers together on my lower back. “Would you like me to leave, then?”

“No, no, it’s quite alright,” he replied with a chuckle, pulling back to look down at me.

“Do you know who you’re fighting?” I asked.

“Not yet,” Loki answered, “but I shall find out soon.”

“Whoever it is, I know you shall win.”

“For your certainty alone shall guarantee my victory?” he laughed.

“Well, even if you do not win,” I said, lifting up to plant a quick kiss on his lips, “I shall still congratulate you tonight how you like best.”

“Mmm,” he murmured, lowering his face once again to kiss me. He unlocked his fingers from behind me and I felt his hands travel down over the curve of my buttocks and pull my lower half hard against him. “And how is that, Stjarna?” he whispered sultrily, moving his face so his lips were by my ear and his warm breath ruffling my hair.

I was only able to laugh before the flap of the tent was thrown open and Thor stood there, clad similarly to Loki, except his armor was light silver with accents of gold and red beneath. He had been about to announce something, but stopped abruptly when he saw me.

I quickly broke away from Loki, feeling my cheeks already burning for how Thor had seen him holding me.

“She’s not supposed to be here,” Thor reproved, turning to look at Loki.

“That was just what I was telling her,” Loki smirked, turning a reprimanding, yet amused, gaze on me. He seemed to be in a very amiable mood despite Thor’s sudden appearance. Usually he was always quite snide with Thor, or at least whenever in Thor’s presence, but at the moment he appeared almost to be teasing.

I managed to smile at him, nonetheless, and bid him good luck as I went to leave. I inclined my head towards Thor as he moved to let me pass and as soon as I was outside the tent, I heard Thor snap, “Focus, brother!”

I smiled to myself as I quickly made my way back up towards the stands, trying to ignore the questioning looks from some of the other gods and assistants since, strictly speaking, I was not supposed to be down here. But nobody stopped to question me and soon enough I was back up in the stands where I was meant to be.

Gullhár had saved me a seat next to her as I had asked and when I sat down, she said, “Where did you go?”

“I went to see His Highness.”

Her subsequent smile was perceptive. “What happened?”

“I only went to wish him luck. I think they were about to announce the pairings to all of the fighters, though, so I had to leave.”

“Good,” she laughed. “I am ready for the tournament to start.”

I had been correct in my assumption, for just a few minutes later, I caught sight of a young page, the same one I had spoken to earlier, making his way up through the stands and towards the Allfather, who sat separate and higher from the other spectators next to the queen. The boy held a piece of paper in his hand and bowed to the king before ceremoniously placing it into his hand.

The Allfather perused the document before standing up. The dull roar of the crowd nearly immediately ceased and the Allfather began speaking, his voice loud and easily discernible in the hushed silence.

He announced that the pairings had been decided for the first half of the first round and proceeded to list off who would be fighting who this morning. I listened intently for Loki’s name and heard that he would be facing the god Hermod. His fight would be the fifth one of the morning.

Shortly after, the tournament got under way.

The first two to fight were the gods Baldr and Ullr.

I watched with some interest, for the two were quite evenly matched, though eventually it was Baldr who emerged victorious.

And so the day passed; those who fought included Thor’s friend, Volstagg, and the god Vidar. Vidar won, though it was close. Next came Njord against Thor; their match proved surprisingly dramatic, for it looked as if Thor might be defeated once or twice, but ultimately he managed to come out on top. Afterwards came the gods Ódr and Forseti; Forseti won the match handily.

But at last came Loki, who was against Hermod. Though their fight was not the last of the day, it was the one I had been most eagerly awaiting.

I did not know much of Hermod’s fighting skills, for Loki had hardly ever told me of him. I wondered worriedly if he would prove to be formidable opponent for Loki, but my fears ultimately proved unnecessary.

Loki and Hermod entered the field when it came their time to fight; each approached the other from opposite ends of the field and as Loki walked, he looked up towards where the queen sat. Though he was just too far for me to discern the direction of his gaze, I knew he was looking for me. When I saw him smile, I knew he had found me and I smiled back, hoping he could see. I silently wished him luck.

Once he and Hermod met in the middle, they bowed to one another and then backed away to take their respective positions, swords held in their hands. The Allfather called for the fight to begin soon after and Hermod was the first to move, as I knew he would be. Loki had told me before that he disliked being the first one to strike in a fight, as he liked to anticipate his opponent’s next moves judging by their first ones. Loki was very adept like that.

And how I loved watching him fight. When I visited him in the training yard, I would sit and watch, enthralled by his movements. Though he was often bested by Thor, he still would put up a good fight, and he never lost to the Einherjar he sparred with. I thought he was such a beautiful fighter—I had always thought that—even though his style and tactics were a bit different from Thor’s or the other Aesir. He was much lither, much more graceful in his movements, and it showed so clearly in this fight with Hermod.

Their fight was hard, but not terribly long, and I watched wide-eyed the entire time. Only once did it seem that Hermod might win, but Loki quickly took control of the fight again and before long had Hermod on his back in the dirt, his foot on his chest.

The Allfather pronounced Prince Loki as the winner and there was cheering all around. Though I did cheer loudly, feeling such happiness for Loki, I doubt he heard me. He and Hermod exited the field and both headed towards a tent set up nearby. Eir had set up there to heal the fighters afterwards and in case there occurred any emergencies.

I watched Loki until he disappeared from sight off to the side and watched with much less interest the two fights afterwards. I was not particularly excited about tomorrow, either, as it was the last half of the first round. There would be another five or six fights tomorrow, I knew, but Loki would not participate in any of them. He had already advanced to the second round and would not fight again until the third day.

After the last fight’s conclusion, in which Frey thoroughly, and rather viciously, defeated Thor’s friend Fandral, the king declared the first half of the first round over and that the court should make their way to the great hall for the subsequent banquet to celebrate today’s winners.

And so the king and queen departed the field first and all eventually made their way back to the palace to celebrate.

__

The banquet that night was magnificent. It was not at all like the banquet where the Ljósálfr ambassador had been an honored guest. Tonight’s revelry was meant to extol the day’s victors and so was not intended to be civil or stately, but rather unrefined and boisterous.

I gazed with much pride at Loki during the feast, managing to catch his eye and smile at him a few times. I was eager for the feast to end so I could see him, but I was not in too much of a rush, for I was also enjoying myself immensely. Despite having a general apathy towards banquets and frivolity of that sort, the food that night seemed especially rich, the wine especially sweet, and the mood fabulously buoyant. I could not help but to get caught up in it all.

And when at last the feast was done, Loki came down from the high table to mingle, which was something he hardly ever did. He found me and I stayed by his side nearly the entire night as we wandered around socializing. We carried our cups with us, as did just about everybody else, and would often call to have them refreshed by a servant walking around with a flagon in search of empty cups to refill.

Loki was in such a jovial mood that night and we danced and drank until we were both flushed with wine and tipsy. But we were not alone in our high-spirited stupor, for the entire great hall seemed to be in a state of drunken merriment.

After our fourth or fifth dance, one of the more enlivening ones, I took Loki’s hand in mine and pulled him towards a section of wall near the corner not lit up so brightly by torches. He followed me willingly and grinned widely when I pushed him up against the wall, my hands splayed on his chest.

“Let us retire, Loki,” I whispered breathlessly.

He smirked at me and said in mock admonition, “I am not supposed to leave banquets early, Stjarna. I am the prince, remember?”

“I have not forgotten,” I murmured with a smile, lifting up to kiss him. He responded eagerly and we kissed there in the flickering shadows cast by the nearest torches, tasting the sweet wine upon each other’s tongues. Loki pulled me tight to him and I could easily perceive the swell of his rapidly growing arousal pressing into me through his pants and my dress and already I could feel that hollow ache beginning between my thighs.

Loki broke the kiss, leaving my tingling lips neglected, and ran his lips up my jaw. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, feeling the brief wetness of his tongue beneath my ear before he nipped playfully at my earlobe. He moved to kiss my neck and grazed his teeth across my heated skin, wetting it with his tongue. I did not care in my slight state of inebriation if any saw us, though I thought it doubtful for where we were standing. Besides, Loki and I were not the only ones who had retired to a shadowy part of the great hall to kiss and touch. In fact, compared to some, what we were doing was rather tame.

I whispered Loki’s name and opened my eyes when he began kissing and nipping at the sensitive spot between my neck and shoulder. He pulled back and slowly opened his eyes, which were clouded with desire.

I pleaded, “Loki, please, let us go...”

This time, Loki did not hesitate or bother to question the protocol that required him to remain to the end of the banquet. He released me and took my hand in his, twining his long fingers with mine. He began pulling me behind him, his strides long and determined. He followed the wall towards the nearest doorway and we had to weave in and out of groups of people standing in the way; some bowed to him and tried drunkenly to congratulate him on his victory against Hermod, but Loki barely slowed down and soon we were out of the heat and noise of the great hall.

We were hurrying through the empty and darkened corridors, hands clasped tightly, until at last we made it to Loki’s chambers. He opened the door and pulled me inside and then we were pulling hectically at each other’s clothes, not caring to be gentle. I heard a part of my dress rip when Loki roughly pulled at the laces and I accidentally dropped a piece of his armor and it clanged loudly on the stone floor, but he made no indication that he cared since, not a moment later, he took his helmet off and dropped it unceremoniously to the ground.

And then we were naked and within moments had traversed the length of his chambers to his bed, so large and welcoming and decked in that deep crimson drapery.

Loki pushed me down onto the bed and immediately went to kiss me; his kisses were hard and deep and insistent, nearly bruising in their intensity, and his touch burning. He kissed me as if he had not done it in so long, but I rose up to meet him, tangling my fingers in his black hair.

Soon we were rolling in the bed, twisting the sheets around our bodies, pushing against one other, for we could not seem to get close enough in this fervor, and we were gasping and panting into each other’s mouths, pulling at each other’s hair, biting and kissing and touching and laughing, drowning so willingly in this heady, wine-induced cloud of pleasure.

Eventually, our initial ardor gave way to a hard and leisurely rhythm; Loki’s hips were nestled snugly between my thighs and every slow, hard thrust wrenched a strangled cry from my swollen lips. My head was flung back, my legs thrown as wide as the covers twined around our naked bodies would allow, and my nails were digging into his hips and the hard muscles beneath. His face was so close to mine and I could feel his warm breath on my face, coming heavily and sporadically, punctuating the still air with this wordless litany of our union.

My entire body was alive and thrumming with this delicious heat and I could feel my imminent release boiling in my lower half, this tight and marvelous pressure on the verge of splitting open. I lifted up as much as I could, reaching for it and anticipating, trying to press my body closer to his. And when he thrust into me once more, nearly driving me backwards on the bed, I cried out as the unbearable tension in my lower half ruptured, sending these waves of all-consuming pleasure surging so powerfully through me.

Somewhere far away, through this veil of heated bliss, I heard Loki groan for the feeling of my insides coming so hard around him and it only took him another thrust to find his own release; he cried out and gasped my name, bent his elbows and curled down onto me, pressing me down into the bed. Even in this state of euphoric paralysis, I attempted to lift up, to get as close as possible in this moment, for even joined it seemed we were not close enough. I moved my arms up and we clutched to one another tightly with not a hair’s breadth between our rigid bodies.

And then when the tremors of our ecstasy had faded into a dull and lingering warmth, and our taut muscles relaxed, Loki slowly and shakily pulled out of me. He fell sideways off of me onto his back, bouncing onto the bed with a satisfied sigh, both of us still bound together by his loosely wrapped sheets.

We lay there for a long while, allowing our breaths to come slower, before I turned my head to look at Loki. I was smiling tiredly, still floating back down from my high, and was suddenly struck by the urge to kiss him. Though my entire body felt very heavy, I found the strength to roll onto my side and press myself against him. Loki turned onto his side and pulled me into an embrace, moving to tangle his legs with mine beneath the covers.

I lifted my head to plant a light, lingering kiss on his mouth before moving down to rub my nose against his chin. He lifted his head, eyes closed, as I then moved to kiss his jaw and beneath it. I caressed his throat with my lips before nuzzling against his warm skin, pressing my face into the side of his neck and feeling his pulse on my lips.

After a long moment, I slowly kissed my way back up until our lips met. I put my hand on his cheek and rested my forehead against his. When he playfully pushed his nose against mine and gently kissed me, I felt that burgeoning and undeniable warmth in my chest.

And then came the words, whispered so softly.

“I love you.”


	35. Part I - Chapter 35

Stjarnavetr

“I love you.”

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I went to kiss Loki again. I pressed my lips to his and moved my fingers to tangle in his hair.

I almost did not feel how he stiffened beneath me, how his lips froze against mine. And then wordlessly he was pulling away, breaking our kiss, disentangling our legs beneath the covers.

I languidly opened my eyes, only for a moment wondering as to why he was pulling away from me. Just before he rolled onto his back, I saw his face. I could not read his expression—it seemed to be made of stone—but now he was completely withdrawn from me and no longer looking at me; his gaze was focused up and off to the side away from me, his hands resting on his stomach.

It was in that moment that my heart was gripped by an icy fear. All the warmth I had felt earlier, that delicious feeling that his tender kiss had ignited in me, was suddenly drained away, leaving me petrified. It was only then that I realized the terrible weight of what I had just said.

Those words which I had whispered with such raw sincerity now hung between us, heavy and stagnant in the silent air.

He did not say anything and neither did I, though I so badly wanted to—anything to break this dreadful silence—but I could not find the words. I could only stare at him, but still he did not look at me. I thought briefly of reaching out to touch his arm, but with how he had extracted himself from my embrace, I did not think he wanted me to touch him. The thought of that seemed to physically pain me.

As I slowly lay down on my side, trying to discourage the tears blurring my vision and attempting to not make a sound, I silently begged him to look at me, perhaps to smile and say that my words were of no consequence. Perhaps to tell me that everything was fine.

But he did not.

And then he turned over onto his side with his back to me.

It was in that moment when I thought my heart broke.

I blinked, feeling the tears roll down my face. I swallowed hard and, after a moment, managed to muster the courage to whisper, “Loki?”

I am sure he could hear the tears in my voice and the way his name trembled so precariously on my tongue.

He did not respond immediately, but when he did speak, he did not move at all and his voice was soft and unfeeling. “I think it best if we slept now, Stjarna.”

I stared at his bare back in a sort of stunned and distraught silence.

But I could not leave it at this. Could I tell him I had not meant it, even though I knew that to be a lie? Could I tell him that it was the wine that had made me speak so thoughtlessly? Would he believe me?

I swallowed again and whispered, “Loki? I—”

“Stop,” he said coldly, cutting me off. I could hear the warning in his voice and immediately I bit my tongue, trying my best to fight the sob I could feel welling up in my throat.

How had it gone so quickly from us holding each other and kissing to this? Now he would not look at me, would not touch me, would not even have me speak to him.

Loki reached down and pulled the covers up from where they had been wrapped loosely around our waists and covered himself.

I tried my absolute hardest not to cry. I managed to not make a sound with him lying so close to me—and yet now so far away. I desperately wanted to touch him, wanted him to hold me, but I could not bring myself to make a sound or even move. I feared he might grow angry with me.

And so I lay there, my insides gripped by this nauseating fear that I had done something terribly and irreparably wrong.

Eventually I was able to drift off into an uneasy sleep, absurdly hoping that all would be well in the morning, hoping to the gods that all would be well.

__

The next morning, I awoke slowly.

Instinctively, my hand sought Loki’s sleeping form, but when I did not feel him, I opened my eyes and saw that he was not lying in bed with me. I propped myself up on one arm and looked around his chambers, feeling this sense of disquiet.

“Loki?” I said tentatively when I did not see him. No reply. One glance at the balcony and the incoming light told me it was too early—much too early—for him to have already left. I knew he was not fighting in the tournament today and so he had no reason to depart so soon.

When I realized that he had left me alone without even a kiss or parting word, I was so foolish as to glance over at the bedside table for a letter, but there was nothing.

Trying to swallow my dismay, I managed to sit up. I sat on the edge of Loki’s bed for a long time, staring absently at the wall or floor. Though I sat still, I was consumed with this crushing grief, this bilious mixture of dread and sorrow.

It pained me to think back to the night before and how completely Loki had rejected me. But what had I been hoping for? How could I have been so reckless to let that slip out? But I had said it and it was done and I could not take it back.

After a while, I slipped off of the bed, went slowly into his main room, and picked my clothes up off the floor near the door where Loki had dropped them the night before while undressing me. I dressed slowly, for this dread sitting heavy in the pit of my stomach seemed to have numbed me.

I left Loki’s chambers shortly after and returned to my own to ready for the day. Soon I would have to meet with the other women in the queen’s chambers where we would then head down to the field for the conclusion of the first round of the tournament.

I knew Loki would be there. Since he was not fighting today, for his next fight was not until tomorrow, he would sit with Thor next to the king and queen. I held out some small hope that he might try to speak to me, but it seemed a fool’s hope.

Perhaps an hour or so later, I sat with the other handmaidens in the stands. I had searched for Loki upon arriving at the field, but had not seen him yet. Soon enough, though, both he and Thor arrived simultaneously. They passed in front of the handmaidens on the way to their seats on the other side of the Allfather. I knew that if things had been well between us, Loki would have sought me out amongst the other women and flashed me a smile, but now he did not even spare a single glance in my direction. I watched him dejectedly, wondering as to how he could act like this and ignore me so utterly.

I obviously could not go speak to him now, so I tentatively turned to face forwards, feeling ill. I twisted my dress nervously in my hands, debating on what I should do. Gullhár even asked me if I was alright, for she noticed my state of distress, but I said it was only that I was not feeling well, which was true enough.

Soon, the second half of the first round of the tournament began and it could not have gone by any more slowly. I was incredibly aware of Loki’s nearness, just on the other side of the king and queen. I could hear him over everybody else—probably because I was listening for him—speaking to Thor between fights, commenting on a particular move or strategy, and merely the sound of his voice seemed to pain me.

I desperately wished to speak to him, but I also dreaded it.

At last, the day’s fights ended and the Allfather dismissed everybody, once again announcing that there would be a banquet. There would be a banquet held every single night of the tournament, the fourth being the largest to celebrate the winner, in the great hall.

Once the stands began to clear, I went with the other handmaidens who were slowly filing out. I was trying to think on when I might have a chance to speak to Loki tonight when I was jolted out of my thoughts by a voice.

“Stjarna.”

I quickly turned around, almost bumping into Málvit, and saw that it was Loki who had called my name. He was standing nearby, out of the way of the flow of people.

I looked at him, almost in some sort of happy relief, and promptly went to him. Once I stood there in front of him, I managed to smile. I did not know what he might say, but I was only happy for the fact that he was speaking to me after having completely ignored me the entire day.

But before I could say anything, Loki said, his voice low, “Stjarna… I only wished to say that I think it best if you slept in your own chambers tonight.”

As I stared at him, my smile slowly fell. “You do not want me tonight?”

“No,” he replied, and the way he said it—so quickly and with such callousness—hurt me.

“Loki,” I said, trying to mask the despair in my voice. “Can we not… can we not simply forget—”

Suddenly, Loki’s entire body stiffened. “Forget?” he nearly hissed, cutting me off.

I flinched, lips parted in surprise at the harsh tone of his voice. I lowered my gaze and stared at the metal curvature on his chest. My eyes then traveled down to his hand and, impulsively, I reached for it, ready to apologize for my words the night before.

As soon as I touched him, though, he recoiled from me and pulled his hand away. I looked up at him in a sort of shocked silence.

“Loki—?”

But he shook his head, effectively silencing me. He only looked at me for another moment before wordlessly brushing past me.

I turned around and could not help but to nearly whimper, “I am sorry.”

But he did not once look back at me.

__

I was miserable during the banquet that night.

Where the night before I had taken part in the lively talk of the handmaidens, tonight I was silent. I pushed my food despondently around on my plate and hardly drank. I was not hungry, nor was I thirsty. I felt so very drained and there was not much to celebrate, anyway, I thought.

When the feast was over and the dancing came, even Gullhár, who usually did not partake in the frivolity, elected to mingle and dance.

And so I sat alone against the wall.

Through the night, I kept looking up to gaze at Loki, who had not left the high table. I did not expect him to come down, though. Only once did our eyes meet. I had been watching him speak to a servant, probably asking for more wine or food, and when she had gone, he turned and looked right at me.

I immediately dropped my gaze, but felt foolish afterwards. After all we had shared and I could not even look at him now—but with how he had treated me this day, and the night before, I thought it no mystery as to why I could not meet his stare.

I looked down at my lap and stared forlornly at my fingers.

Suddenly, the music and laughter seemed too much for me—too loud and too overwhelming. I stood up and made my way towards the nearest door, feeling poorly.

It was not until I was safely in my rooms that I allowed the tears to come. I wept quietly as I prepared for bed and once under the covers, curled up and pressed my face into my pillow.

I kept thinking of last night when I had told Loki that I loved him. I kept seeing his face, that stony visage of what almost looked like indifference. I kept thinking of how he had pulled away from me, how he had turned his back to me, shutting me out and leaving me dreadfully alone in my worries. How I had woken up alone, him having left me without saying goodbye.

I had known that it was foolish to love him. I knew what I was and I knew that it would never amount to anything, but I had never expected it to hurt this much.

I knew I had to speak with him, but I did not know when I might be able to speak with him next. Perhaps I could try to visit him before his fight tomorrow. But what would I do? Might I try to apologize again? Would I be so foolish to inquire for a second time if we might simply forget that I had ever said anything, despite how he had reacted earlier?

I held the covers tight to me, feeling ill and wishing that I had never said it, wishing perhaps that I had never felt it in the first place.

__

Loki

I did not know her name, nor did I care to learn it. I only needed her body.

She stood before me completely naked, her servant’s garb left discarded on the floor.

I had needed something tonight—anything—to purge Stjarna from my mind, to burn away those toxic words. I had thought that losing myself in another woman, drowning in another woman’s body, might do it.

I was thankful she was willing enough, for I had not much cared for convincing tonight.

I had seen her during the banquet.

I had been sitting up at the high table the entire night in silence, brooding over Stjarna, unable to think of anything but the way her face had fallen when I’d told her not to come to me tonight, that look in her eyes when I’d walked away from her, how she had tried to apologize to me, as if that might make everything alright.

It was then when I had noticed one of the serving girls bringing fresh flagons of wine to the table. In watching the girl, I had noticed the sway of her hips, the swell of her breasts beneath her dress, and had remembered that I would be lying alone tonight, to be inexorably eaten up with thoughts of only Stjarna. I could not have that—I did not think I could do it. I had needed something other than Stjarna to occupy my mind, something to drive all thoughts of Stjarna away.

And so when the girl had come to refill my cup, I had taken her by the wrist and she had leaned down, thinking that I might require something else. I had, but it was not wine; I’d told her, in no-nonsense terms, that I would require her presence in my chambers tonight. I had not worded it as a polite inquiry, but more as an order. I was not in the mood to chase or play games tonight.

When the girl had straightened up, she seemed surprised and unsure. She had not responded to me immediately, but later on during the banquet, having come to refill my cup once again, she had murmured so only I could hear, “Yes, Your Highness.”

And so I had waited.

I had been sitting at my table, a cup of wine in my hand, staring ahead and trying not to think of Stjarna, when there had come a light knocking on my door. I could almost hear the hesitance in the way she knocked, but I did not care. I had taken one more drink of my wine, set the cup down, and went to the door and opened it. She had come in and stood there after I’d shut the door.

She followed me into my bedchamber where I subsequently had told her, rather bluntly, to undress, and she had silently done so, keeping her eyes trained on the floor.

And now she stood there naked, as if waiting for further instructions.

Almost irritably, I said, “Get on the bed.”

She turned to do as I had said. She climbed up onto my bed and lay down, her dark hair fanned out over the pillows. I followed her and stood next to the bed and quickly undressed. I pulled my tunic off, kicked my boots off, and then unlaced my pants and pushed them down and stepped out of them. As I did so, I stared at the girl’s body, trying to bring myself to arousal.

It had been so long since I had fucked another woman. Months, in fact, and she had not been very satisfying, nor had the one before her. None of them satisfied me like Stjarna always could—always had.

This particular girl looked nothing like Stjarna, though, which was good. But it was also as if this very fact, infuriatingly, inhibited me. It took me longer than usual to ready myself, but the girl held my gaze boldly as I studied her, where before she had hardly been able to meet my eyes. Luckily for her, that also inflamed me somewhat.

At last, I crawled onto the bed and pushed her legs apart with my knees, trying to only focus on the physicality of it all, trying to only concentrate on the rising heat in my body and the girl’s presence beneath me. I ran my fingers between her legs and felt her wet enough to continue.

I did not waste any time for fear that thoughts of Stjarna might resurface, for fear that I might feel that discomforting prickle of guilt in the back of my mind.

I positioned myself and pushed into the girl, staring down at her face. She gasped and closed her eyes, letting her mouth fall open, and raised her legs to make my entrance easier.

I expulsed a heavy breath and closed my eyes, relishing the feel of her around me. It felt good as it always did, but something was missing. But I ignored that feeling and before I began moving, I reached back to grab her legs and wrap them around my waist.

I was not gentle with her, but I was not in a gentle mood. I needed only to spend my anger and my frustration in a body other than Stjarna’s after what she had said to me.

And now I tried to forget it, tried to lose myself in this girl beneath me, to drive all thoughts of Stjarna from my mind. I did not want to think of her, to think of how she loved me. How foolish she was to love me, how stupid… how stupid we both had been…

By now I was slamming into the girl, my hands pinning her arms to the bed so she did not keep moving up and away from me. She was crying out every time the flat of my hips collided with her tender inner thighs, but I could not be bothered to slow or have more care, for I was already so close to my release.

My eyes were squeezed shut, mouth hanging open and breaths coming quickly and harshly. But when I finally came, it was not nearly hard enough, not nearly strong enough, but for those few precious moments, I hovered above the girl, my muscles frozen, head lifted up and mind and body flooded with this futile pleasure.

The girl remained motionless beneath me as I spilled myself inside her. She had not come with me, but I did not think she had been close to it, anyway. But I did not care. I’d not called her here tonight for her pleasure, but for mine. She had not been pleasing at all like I had hoped, though. But then again, it was not her fault. It was my own mind not letting me take everything away, not letting myself forget everything in her body.

Too soon the feeling passed, just this fleeting and wasted pleasure, and I slowly opened my eyes. Then came that weakness and I bent down and pressed my face into the pillow beneath the girl’s head and settled my body onto hers.

I could hear her panting in my ear, though I knew she had not come with me, and her breathy little gasps were almost annoying, but I did not say anything. I only lay there on top of her, my mind still cloudy with this short-lived and useless euphoria.

A few moments later, I pushed off of the girl, who lay still, and fell onto my back next to her. I was breathing hard and shaking slightly. I put my hand over my eyes, trying to calm myself.

I had not even enjoyed it. While I had felt the physicality of it all and my body had reached that peak, I had felt nothing else, but that is how it had been with them all, it seemed. With every consecutive woman that I fucked, it became less and less enjoyable to me.

In the beginning, I remembered, everything had been good.

I had sought that rush, that immoral but oh so delicious thrill. But then as time had worn on, that need began to diminish and the frequency with which I took other women had lessened. Now every maid tasted bland, every woman other than Stjarna dull. It did not excite me as it once had, the chase and the rush. I gleaned no pleasure from it anymore. In fact, it had been over six months since the last one. This girl was the first in such a long time and she had been as unsatisfying as the last one. But even then, I had not been tormented with thoughts of Stjarna and love. Now it was eating me up and I was sick with these thoughts.

Usually, I could do it all without thinking of Stjarna. When I spent myself inside another woman, I did not think of Stjarna at all, before or after, but now I could think of nothing else.

I kept replaying that moment in my mind, her kissing me, her whispering to me that she loved me.

My stomach clenched at just remembering.

I had not known what to do or say in that moment. Obviously I was not going to say it back, but for the first time in a long time, I had been absolutely speechless. And so I had said nothing at all, which might have been worse than anything.

I remembered how I had pulled away from her and turned my back to her. I had not wished to see her, see her eyes so shiny with tears, but I could still hear the tears in her voice when she said my name, hear the desperation in her words. But what else could I do, for I damned well was not going to return affection that was not—could not—be there.

Slowly I turned my head to look at the girl lying next to me.

Now her very presence was irritating me, though she was doing nothing but lying there and breathing.

I suppose her merely being there reminded me of Stjarna, though.

I looked back up.

“You may go,” I said.

The girl glanced at me, but then sat up and slowly slid off of the bed. She collected her things off of the floor and began dressing. It took her an unnecessarily long amount of time, I noticed, but I did not say anything to hurry up her dithering about.

At last, she chanced, “Is there… anything else you need? Your Highness?”

“No.”

She gave a little nod and left my bedchamber. But then just as I heard the door in my other room open, I bolted upright. “Stop!”

I got out of bed, entered my main room, and saw her standing by the half-open door, staring at me in bewilderment as I approached her. “Your Highness?”

She pressed her back up against the door, shutting it again, and looked up at me. I bent down and grabbed the hem of her dress. She made a sound of confusion and put her hand on my shoulder as I unceremoniously lifted her skirts and said bluntly, “Spread your legs.”

Hesitantly she did so and when I slipped my fingers between her legs, I could still feel me slick on her soft skin. I mouthed the words and felt the heat of my seidr in my palm and felt her body tense up.

When I dropped her skirts and stood back up, she asked softly, “What was that?”

“Nothing,” I dismissed, pushing her out of the way and opening the door. I held it open and looked at her.

Sensing I did not want her here anymore, she gave a little nod and bowed briefly to me before leaving. I shut the door behind her and stood there for a long while, staring down at the floor.

It was in that moment that it all came crashing in on me at once.

I closed my eyes and groaned loudly—not for anger or frustration, but for this nauseating feeling of remorse. I pressed my forehead against the door and leaned against it, trying to swallow this self-loathing I could feel rising to the surface.

It was not only my anger I had failed to dispel, my frustration and my resentment, but also my guilt. And gods, it came on full force.

I did not even know what it was that I was feeling anymore. It felt this sick mixture of anger and bitterness and what almost felt like grief. And all I could think of, all I could hear echoing around in my mind, was that she loved me.

Gods, she could not love me. How foolish she was to love me, how stupid and naïve she was to love me.

Did she not know? Did she not know nothing would ever come of us? She could not love me and I could not love her.

I slowly turned around and leaned against the door and tilted my head back, thinking that just the night before, Stjarna and I had been lying together and everything had seemed perfectly alright. She was kissing me, nestled against me as I liked, and then so foolishly had she said that, whispered it so affectionately to me.

Why could she not have just left it alone?

I stood there for a while longer before finally rousing myself. I went to my bath chamber to wash that girl’s scent off of me. I ran a cool bath and slid into the water and stared ahead at the wall, my mind still pervaded with these thoughts of Stjarna.

This was all my fault, I knew. I had let it go too far. I should not have kept Stjarna for so long. I should have gotten rid of her like all the others, no matter how much pleasure she brought me, no matter how hard I had fought in the beginning to have her. But she had denied me for so long and I had let myself get too deep and too involved in her past. I had not anticipated her causing me to burn so desirously, never knew she would be able to so completely possess me like she did.

But I did not love her, I did not, I could not…

Oh, but I could not imagine not having Stjarna. She’d been there all this time, bringing me such happiness. And yet I had known all along. Through the years, I had realized that we were going too deep. I knew we were headed towards an ugly ending and I should have stopped it, but I had just never been able to bring myself to do it.

And now I was at a loss.

I tried reducing it to what it really was. Stjarna was nothing more than my mistress, just the woman who I had chosen to warm my bed these past years. But now I groaned and let my head fall back against the tub. I could not do it, could not reduce her like that. Stjarna was so much more than that to me, in spite of knowing that she would never be anything more than my mistress. She could not be anything more than what she was now.

And yet, I knew what I needed to do, though the very thought of it filled me with dread.

I needed to end it.

But I did not want that. Gods, I did not want that.

As much as it needed to be done, I did not want to end it with Stjarna. I still wanted her in my bed and still wanted her to be mine. She was still mine. I was not ready to let her go, but I knew it could not go on.

I could not tell myself that it was the wine that had caused her to so foolishly say that. I had seen how she looked at me, suspected for a while now. I had known and yet I had chosen to ignore it, thinking that perhaps if nothing was ever said, if it was never addressed, we could continue on as we always had. But now she had said it and everything was ruined.

I wished she had not said it.

But then why did I feel this way? Why did the very thought that Stjarna loved me fill me with such dread?

I thought of those other women and how they never seemed to satisfy me as they once had and then I thought of how Stjarna, even after nearly a decade, still pleased me utterly.

Was the thought that Stjarna was enough for me so truly frightening? Did I not want to give in to the thought that she was enough? Was I trying to keep the inevitable at bay? But that seemed so stupid…

It was almost alarming to me to admit that I no longer gleaned pleasure from any save Stjarna. But I could not be fettered to one person like that, where my pleasure was so dependent on another, even if it was Stjarna. I had never been that before. I had always been the one in control, the one who dictated everything. But no longer, it seemed. Stjarna unknowingly held me in her hands and had shattered my illusion of control with those three little words, those three little words that would ultimately prove to be our undoing.

I knew what needed to be done, but I was still loath to even seriously consider it.

Eventually, after a long while of going back and forth and berating myself and my inability to come to a decision about Stjarna, I dragged myself out of the tub and into my bed.

And yet I could not sleep.

I tossed and turned, plagued with these anxieties and these feelings that I had never felt before. And now added to my worries was my fight tomorrow morning. How could I hope to win with all of this on my mind? Part of me was furious with Stjarna that she should do this to me—to us—but the other part of me was completely anguished.

I kept telling myself that there was no other way, though. It was not as if I had another choice.

And even as I decided, at last, that it had to be done—and soon—and exhaustion finally claimed me, I could not help but to feel anger at myself, this inexpressible pain at the thought of standing in front of Stjarna and telling her we were over.

But no matter my own grief, it had to be done, for we could not go on.


	36. Part I - Chapter 36

Stjarnavetr

I was resolved in the morning to speak with Loki.

I knew he probably did not wish to speak with me—probably did not wish to see me at all, what with how he had been to me the day before and the night before that—but I could not stand it anymore. I was consumed with this fear and apprehension and felt I might burst if I did not see him.

And so I went down to the field independently of the other handmaidens that morning. As I walked, headed towards the group of tents near the edge of the field, I tried to fortify myself. I had wondered if I would stoop so low as to beg his forgiveness for my words, for obviously I had done something terribly wrong, but if it would alleviate this unbearable tension, then I would do it.

Nobody stopped me, thankfully, but there were not as many people wandering about since it was still quite early. Soon, I stood at the entrance of Loki’s tent and hesitated for only a moment before silently slipping inside.

Loki was standing with his back to me. He was not yet clad in his battle armor, but was running his fingers absentmindedly over some of his gear laid out on a table. His head was bowed down and he looked to be deep in thought.

I stared at him, whatever words I might have been about to say suddenly dying in my throat. I thought it almost amusing that I had come so determined to speak with him, but now could not find the words to say.

So I only whispered. “Loki?”

He did not turn around to look at me and his fingers did not cease their aimless meandering over what looked to be a part of his breastplate.

“You’re not supposed to be down here,” he remarked, though he did not say it teasingly as he had the first day when he had taken me into his arms and kissed me. He actually meant it, I realized with a pang. He did not want me here.

But I desperately needed to talk to him.

“I know, Loki. Please forgive me. But I… I need to speak with you.”

He said dully, without even bothering to glance back at me, “Now is not a good time, Stjarna.”

I bit my lip. He was trying to shut me out again, but I could not have that.

I took a step towards him and implored, “Loki, please, I—”

But before I could finish, Loki unexpectedly turned on me and nearly screamed, “I said not now!”

I flinched and took a step back, lips parted in disbelief. I stared at him for only another moment before quickly lowering my head, feeling this dreadful heat in my body. I immediately turned around to leave, tears already burning in my eyes and welling up in my throat.

I could not remember the last time Loki had raised his voice to me in such a way. Was he truly so angry at me?

Just as I reached the flap of the tent and went to shakily push it aside, I felt a light pressure on my arm. I nearly jumped, but then Loki gently turned me around. I kept my eyes down and off to the side, not wanting him to see me on the verge of tears, but he curled his fingers under my chin and gingerly lifted my head up.

When he saw my eyes brimming with tears, he looked slightly remorseful. “Stjarna, I… I am sorry. But now is not a good time.”

I managed to nod, but kept my eyes averted from his gaze.

He paused for a moment, as if unsure, and then said softly, “After the fights today, I will come and find you. I also need to speak with you about something, Stjarna, but… but not now, alright?”

I only nodded again. I feared my voice would break if I verbally responded, for I was trying my hardest not to cry. I am sure he could feel the subtle trembling of my chin.

Loki gazed at me for a long moment before finally letting out a small, soundless sigh. He leaned down to kiss me, but I detected the barest hint of reluctance as he moved to kiss my cheek instead of my lips.

When he pulled back and released me, I looked back down at the ground and wordlessly turned to leave.

As I made my way back up towards the stands, which were just now beginning to buzz with activity, I wiped my eyes and managed to calm myself and swallow my tears. I took my seat near to where the handmaidens would sit and waited in miserable silence until they and the queen arrived.

All I could think about was what Loki had said, that he needed to speak with me. I was somewhat relieved that at last we would have a chance to properly speak, but for some reason I was filled with this terrible foreboding.

I dared to wonder, though it pained me, if this was the end. Loki obviously did not feel for me as I felt for him and I daresay my confession, which is how I thought of it now, had angered him. Was this the day that I had been dreading all these years, when Loki would finally be rid of me? Had my use as his mistress finally run its course?

I cursed myself. This entire thing was my fault. Never would I have thought that it would be by my own doing that he finally elected to be rid of me. If only I had kept my mouth shut, everything would still be fine between us. But it was past now. There was no point in despairing over that particular fact; it had already happened and now I need only endure whatever may come.

But the truth was, I did not want Loki to leave me. It was difficult for me to imagine simply ceasing our relationship. Though I knew our seidr lessons would continue, for that was independent of our intimacy, I could not imagine not going to his chambers during the night, or him coming to mine, and not waking up with him in the morning. Merely the thought of lying in my own bed alone every night greatly saddened me.

Soon, though, my unhappy thoughts were somewhat mercifully interrupted by the tournament when the pairings for the second round were announced. I listened for Loki’s name and heard that he would be facing Frey as the last fight of the day. Even though Loki and I were embroiled in this mess, I felt anxious for him, for I knew he had always had trouble with Frey.

I could barely concentrate on the other fights that morning, so eaten up with worry was I for my and Loki’s situation, and it was only when Loki and Frey’s fight came that I was able to focus on something other than my apprehensions.

I watched as Loki and Frey entered the field, carrying their swords, and approached each other from opposite ends. Once they met in the middle, they bowed to one another. Then they took their positions and waited for the Allfather to announce the fight’s beginning.

And when the fight began not a minute later, Frey did not waste any time. He moved quickly and lithely, nearly lunging for Loki. Loki deftly—but barely—avoided Frey’s attack, and then the two were at it.

Though I had rarely seen Frey fight, I knew of his style, both from what Loki had told me and my own knowledge of the fighting style of my people. Valdrlund had been trained in the same way as Frey, as all Vanir warriors were trained, and I knew well the viciousness of the manner of fighting.

It was almost difficult to keep up with what was happening, for they were both moving so swiftly and with such precision. Sometimes, one could only discern their colors; both their armors shone brilliantly in the sunlight, Loki’s dark silver with flashes of green and Frey’s bright silver with swathes of pale blue. The sound of ringing metal echoed loudly in the silent air, this resounding song of steel only occasionally interrupted when one of them managed to land a blow to the other, though it was never anything serious or decisive.

Their fight continued on and it looked as if neither could gain the upper hand, which I suppose was good for Loki since I, and I am sure many others, had almost expected him to have lost by now.

But all could see now how Frey began to increase the ferocity of his attacks, how Loki was trying his best to deflect the blows and land his own.

And then suddenly Gullhár, who sat next to me, gasped.

I could hear a slight murmur sweep through the crowd when Frey’s sword began to glow green. He was using his seidr to gain an advantage, but within a few seconds, all saw Loki’s sword radiating that same dull green, as well. Now it was not metal against metal, but magic against magic. When their swords clashed or locked, there was a dull sort of clanging sound, instead of sharp and resonating.

I could sense a change in the crowd. Two participants, I am sure, had never resorted to using their magic, but then again, it was not as if any of the others could use magic like the Van Frey and Loki. It worried me, though, for Frey surpassed Loki in both respects: he was a more seasoned warrior and a true Van, so his magic was stronger.

And yet Loki showed no signs of yielding.

But suddenly, Frey managed to land a nasty blow to Loki and knocked him off of his feet. Loki was thrown sideways and his sword flew out of his hand, landing a short distance away.

Loki quickly tried to rise; he rolled onto all fours and brought his leg up to stand, but Frey, seemingly with the gracefulness of a dancer, bounded up to Loki’s fallen form and drew his leg back and savagely kicked him in the head.

I let out a gasp and my hands flew up to my mouth. Out of the corner of my eye, I could even see the queen stiffen in her chair.

Loki’s head was thrown forcefully upwards and his body nearly spun in the air. He landed hard on his back and lay unmoving. My heart was pounding in my chest and I clasped my now shaking hands in front of me.

And then all could hear Frey laugh as he walked towards Loki, in no particular hurry it seemed.

Now Loki weakly turned over, attempting once more to stand, but Frey kicked him again. Loki’s exclamation of pain was loud and I could hear it even from here. He was thrown onto his back again and Frey went to step on his chest.

But just then, Loki threw his arm up and there was a sandy burst—Loki had grabbed a handful of dirt and thrown it into Frey’s face. Frey angrily exclaimed and stumbled back a step, reaching up to clear his vision.

Loki took the opportunity to roll over and unsteadily clamber to his feet. He immediately began running towards his fallen sword, only a short distance away, but behind him Frey had recovered. Frey flung his arm out and there was a flash of green; his seidr, in the form of a small, crackling green ball, tore through the air and hit Loki squarely in the back.

There was a collective gasp from all.

Loki was thrown violently forward, nearly skidding in the hard dirt, but he landed not far from his sword. Now he was shakily scrambling forward on all fours, frantically reaching out to grasp his fallen weapon. But Frey was running towards him, trying to reach him before he regained the sword.

And just as Frey came upon Loki, Loki turned around, still half-kneeling. But Loki did not use his sword; he raised his arm and sent his own bright burst of seidr at Frey. Frey was pushed back, though he somehow managed to keep his footing.

I sat completely frozen in my seat. I remembered having taught Loki how to manipulate his seidr like that and to use it offensively. He had one morning, a few years ago, showed me a book he had found in his mother’s library describing the use of offensive seidr. He had begged me to teach him and I had been hesitant, for I had never used seidr with the intent of hurting another. But I had done it, for he had been insistent, and I recalled us having gone to the edge of Asgard to practice.

And now while Frey tried to quickly gather himself, Loki was up and lifting his sword. Frey recovered just in time and lifted his own sword; their weapons clanged together and locked at the hilts. The two fought for dominance in the stance and it looked, surprisingly, as if Loki was winning.

Then Frey abruptly disengaged their swords, but Loki took it in stride. There was another burst of green from Frey, but Loki somehow managed to deflect the magic with his own, which was both astonishing and impressive in such close quarters. He retaliated with his own torrent of seidr, which seemed to momentarily blind Frey.

But while Frey was trying to hastily collect himself, Loki drew his arm back and viciously backhanded him across the face. With how powerfully Frey was thrown to the side, and how he dropped his sword, it was apparent Loki had put a good amount of seidr behind the blow.

Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Freyja, who had been sitting on the other side of the king and queen and down further, stand up and go to the rail at the edge of the stands. She gripped it worriedly and leaned forward, looking anxious for her brother.

Frey was on his back in the dirt and going to sit up, but Loki was upon him before he could regain his footing. Loki fell onto him and straddled him and to everybody’s immense surprise, dropped his sword and wrapped his fingers around Frey’s throat.

When Frey could not dislodge Loki, who was now leaning over him with teeth bared and meaning to drive him to unconsciousness, his hand sought blindly on the ground for either his or Loki’s sword. He managed to grab Loki’s, for his own was just out of reach, and brought it up and brutally slammed the hilt right into the side of Loki’s head.

I gasped when I heard the crack of metal against Loki’s head. Surprisingly to all, though, Loki did not let go. He was thrown to the side and they seemed to merely roll over until it was Frey on top. Frey dropped the sword and moved to straddle a now dazed Loki; he knocked Loki’s hands out of the way and proceeded to wrap his own fingers around Loki’s throat.

People in the crowd began standing up to get a better view. I saw the queen look at the Allfather in worry, as if silently urging him to end the fight, but he only looked on, his face a mask of indifference. When she said something to him, he raised his hand to silence her. Queen Frigga nervously looked back towards the field where Frey was sitting on top of her son.

My own body was stiff with fear as I looked on. Off to the side, I could still see Freyja gripping the rail, her body tense. In that moment, I felt some sense of solidarity with her, for both of our lovers were locked in combat and had inflicted a fair amount of pain upon each other.

Loki struggled against Frey, but when he could not extricate himself, he opened his palm and there was an intense flash of green. Frey cried out, for Loki had sent a burst of seidr straight into his face. When Frey let go of Loki, Loki sat up and there was another flash of light and suddenly Frey was on his back and Loki was struggling to stand up, reaching for both his own sword and Frey’s. Loki swayed as he stood, but managed to steady himself right as Frey sat up. Loki brought one of the swords up and, as Frey had done to him, slammed the hilt of the sword into the side of his head.

I flinched at that horrible cracking sound and watched as Frey fell limply to the side.

Now Loki lifted his leg and put his foot on the side of Frey’s head, pressing it down into the hard dirt. He looked up towards the stands, towards the Allfather. He was breathing hard and even from here, I could see blood daubed thickly across the side of his face.

There was a breathless silence and then the Allfather’s voice rang out: “Prince Loki!”

As the crowd erupted into cheers, I sat there in silence, my breath caught in my throat and eyes wide. Loki held Frey’s head down a little longer than necessary, but then drew his foot away and threw both swords down onto the ground. He nearly stumbled backwards, but quickly managed to steady himself.

Then Loki looked back up towards the stands and I knew he was looking at me.

And in that moment, it was not dread or worry I felt, but elation. Despite how Loki had been to me, I could not help but to feel happiness for him. I knew this would be a celebrated victory for him and I grinned, hearing the talk around me. They were praising Loki, for nobody had expected him to beat Frey. Even I had not believed he would win.

Now that the fight was over, and consequently the second round, the Allfather announced another banquet to celebrate the day’s victors. As the stands began to slowly clear, I went down from my seat and stood by the rail and watched Loki exit the field, headed towards Eir’s tent to heal. Two Einherjar went to assist Frey, but he angrily pushed them away and staggered after Loki.

As I turned, ready to leave and head back up towards the palace with the other handmaidens, I saw Freyja walking by. She looked rather harried and I suspected she was probably going to see her brother. I could not help but to smile in amusement at her sour expression. Usually I would not have taken such delight in another’s distress, but I did not much like her since years ago she had so blatantly tried to seduce Loki. I daresay I was almost reveling in her apparent bitterness.

But when Freyja happened to glance over and caught sight of my smile, she came to an abrupt stop.

“What are you smirking at?” she demanded, glaring frigidly at me.

I only gave a little shake of my head, but she stared at me for a long moment before coming towards me, almost stalking like a cat.

“I suppose you are happy for His Highness, then?” she inquired, no longer frowning, but smiling shrewdly.

I leaned away from her as she advanced on me, not liking that grin of hers. Her eyes seemed to burn with some cool ferocity.

“He beat Frey,” I said before I could think on it. I did not know what made me say that, since usually I endeavored to avoid conflict or confrontation, and so I added, “Of course I am happy for him.”

“Yes,” she fairly sneered, looking me up and down. “So will it be you giving him the congratulatory fuck tonight, Stjarnavetr, or will that honor fall to another?”

I only stared at her, brows creased slightly. I was not sure what she meant and was shocked as to the crudeness of her words. I was used to Loki cursing around me, but it was almost jarring to hear Freyja speak so obscenely and especially about Loki, who was the prince.

She laughed at my bewildered expression.

“Come now, sister,” she chided gently, as if she were speaking to a child. “You are not the only one happy for dear Loki, I am sure. Certainly you are not the only one?”

Now I knew what she meant and my lips parted slightly in surprise. She was implying that Loki lay with other women.

I said indignantly, “He does not—”

But Freyja’s high and clear laugh cut through what would have been a rather heated protest.

“Does he not?” And now she leaned in even further, fighting back a smile. “Well, you can be assured, sister, that it was not you he was thinking of when we fucked on his couch.”

Immediately, my entire body went cold.

“You are lying,” I whispered, though my voice trembled.

She laughed again, but her eyes were cold. “Oh, Stjarnavetr. Surely you are smarter than this.” And then she added, as if it was an afterthought, “He did not even resist me, you know. It was almost as if he wanted it. Were you not even satisfying him back then, sister?”

I stood there, frozen. I could not speak, could not find the strength to repudiate her malicious words.

“And you can be sure I am not the only one,” she continued with a furtive smile. “You of all people should know how he is. Do you not think he finds pleasure elsewhere with a boring little thing like you in his bed?”

When I could still only stare at her, into that frigid and colorless blue, she tilted her head, still smiling, and then brushed past me. And I stood there, eyes focused on nothing, feeling as if I might vomit.

I did not want it to be true. Gods, please let it not be true.

Freyja was lying, she had to be. Loki had told me before how she was. She was spiteful and cruel. She had only told me that to hurt me, only because Loki had beat Frey. She was trying to further fray my and Loki’s already rapidly unraveling relationship.

But Loki was loyal to me. He would not seek pleasure elsewhere. He had told me before how completely I satisfied him, how fantastically I pleased him. He would not have sought pleasure elsewhere, would he? All through these years, he had never given me reason to suspect…

I thought of how she had said “back then.” Did she mean when she had been attempting to seduce him? I wondered now, feeling sick, if she had succeeded.

And yet, despite how I tried to deny it, despite how I tried to rationalize with myself, I knew in my heart she was not lying. But I did not want it to be real. I did not want to admit it. Once it was true, once I accepted it, the pain would be too much.

I turned and began making my way out of the stands. By now, they had mostly cleared and the handmaidens had already departed, though some people still lingered or milled about. I walked slowly, my heart heavy with this leaden sorrow. I could not think of anything in that moment. Everything was too jumbled, it was all too much, and all sounds around me seemed muted.

But as I walked, hardly moving it seemed, his voice cut clearly through this blanket of despair.

“Stjarna.”

I turned around, not having made it very far, and saw Loki coming towards me. He was no longer clad in his armor and the blood had been cleaned off of his face.

I remembered that Loki had told me earlier he would come to find me. He had needed to speak to me, he said. Before, I had been worried that he might be rid of me, but now that all seemed so far away and so unimportant.

“Loki,” I whimpered, looking up at him.

Though I knew in my heart it was true, some part of me still did not believe it—could not believe it. He was faithful to me. He may not have loved me, but he cared enough for me that he would not have lain with Freyja or other women.

Loki saw the tears in my eyes and furrowed his brows, but he did not address my distraught appearance. He only said quietly, “Come, Stjarna.”

He went to take my arm, perhaps to lead me up to the palace, but something took a hold of me and I pulled away from him and took a step back.

Loki stared at me. “What are you doing?”

I looked up at him, fresh tears beginning in my eyes. Behind him and off to the side, I could barely see Freyja standing alone and a little ways away. She was watching us.

Loki looked at me in confusion, but then followed my teary gaze and turned. He saw Freyja observing us and he stared at her for a long moment before slowly turning back to me. His face looked much stonier than it had before and suddenly I knew and it felt as if my blood had turned to ice in my veins.

“What is wrong, Stjarna?” he inquired, though his voice had changed. It was softer, almost consoling.

He knew that I knew.

I stared into his pale green eyes, almost too afraid to say it, too afraid to hear it, too afraid to know for certain.

“Fr—Freyja…” I stammered, feeling as if I might burst into sobs at any moment.

“What about her?” he said gently, keeping his voice low.

Now I could not look at him and I began nervously wringing my dress in my hands. “Sh—she told me you—you two had l—lain together…”

There was a beat of silence.

And then Loki replied, almost casually, “Well, yes, Stjarna. A long time ago. You know that. Before you came to Asgard—”

“No,” I said miserably, cutting him off. “After we—after we were together. After Midgard.”

Much to my surprise, Loki closed his eyes and shook his head, as if exasperated with me. “Stjarna, can we not do this here—”

“Loki,” I murmured piteously, almost begging, my voice so soft and thick with tears. Now he opened his eyes and looked down at me. “Please do not… please do not lie to me.”

He gazed at me for a long, unbearable moment, but I could not read his expression.

And then he remarked, as if his words were of no consequence, “I did lie with her.”

I slowly closed my eyes, feeling as if I had just been struck. My entire body wilted and my throat closed up and I turned away, no longer able to hold back the tears.

So he had done it, then, all those years ago when she had meant to have him. He had lain with her and I had been too ignorant and too naïve to see.

Then I felt Loki lightly touch my arm, but I flinched and took another step back.

I asked, my voice trembling and pathetic, “Have there been others? Other than her?”

Oh, but how could there not have been others? Freyja had been right—I knew how Loki was. I had known it all along, had even anticipated this in the beginning, but had so foolishly chosen to believe that I was enough for him.

And now I looked at him again, tears rolling down my face. He no longer looked stoic. He looked at a loss for words, which was an expression I had hardly ever seen on him. And I knew then. I had not been the only one and had never been the only one. He had lain with Freyja and with other women. How many I knew not—could hardly dare to ask for fear of reply—but imagined that it was many more than just a few.

Loki opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. And then he looked away and then back at me and still said nothing. But there was nothing left to be said.

I turned away from him, feeling the sobs rising in my throat.

“Stjarna,” Loki beseeched.

How differently he spoke to me now, as opposed to this morning.

But I shook my head. “No, no, no,” I whispered frantically to myself.

“Stjarna, listen to me,” he implored. When he grabbed my arm, though, meaning to stop me, I violently recoiled from him and yanked my arm away.

“No!” I shouted tearfully.

Loki quickly glanced around, seeing if my exclamation had drawn any unwanted attention, but all I could think of was him lying with Freyja, lying with those other women, all of them naked in his bed where we lay.

Now Loki’s voice was not so suppliant. There was an edge of warning to it. “Stjarna, we will discuss this later—”

“Later?” I cried despairingly, turning on him. Now it was not sorrow I was drowning in, but anger. It came on so quickly, momentarily burning away this grief. “Discuss it later?”

But Loki no longer looked so passive. He pressed his lips together in what appeared to be annoyance and glared at me, as if silently urging me to be quiet. He said under his breath, “Do not yell—”

“I will yell!” I shouted. In that moment, I did not care if my outbursts drew attention. I did not care if any others saw my tears and saw me falling apart; I could not help it. And it was a good thing I did not care, for I could see heads turning towards us, could still see Freyja in the background watching us. Gods, how I hated her, how I loathed her.

And now I exclaimed, feeling a surge of anger, “How dare you, Loki! How dare you!”

He took a step towards me, I think meaning to intimidate me. “Stjarna, stop it—”

But I did not hear the threatening tone of his voice, or perhaps I did and chose to ignore it.

“How could you do this?” I demanded ruefully, my anger already once again giving way to crushing sorrow. “How could you do this to me?”

And then Loki tried to grab my arm, but I jerked away and nearly screamed, “No! Do not touch me!”

But he did, anyway; he took me by the upper arm, fingers digging painfully into the soft flesh, and roughly pulled me towards him. He leaned down and snapped, “Be silent!”

“Let go of me!” I retorted, trying in vain to pull away from him. I put my hand over his and tried to pry his fingers off of me, for he was holding me so tightly and it hurt, but I could not budge him.

“You will do as I say, Stjarna,” Loki warned under his breath.

But now I tried to push him and cried angrily, “I will not! Let go!”

And then suddenly he leaned in even closer until our faces were only inches apart. I immediately stopped struggling, feeling fear for how angrily he was glowering at me. His eyes bored into mine and he growled, “You forget your place.”

I insolently looked away from him then, trying to fight the angry tears I could feel burning in my eyes.

But then Loki gave me another hard yank to make me look at him and he said darkly, “You would do well to remember, Stjarna, that you are nothing more than a royal whore. Now do as I say.”

And with that, he gave me a hard little shove and I stumbled backwards. My breath caught in my throat and my lips parted in surprise, all the color surely drained out of my face. All previous grievances were forgotten in that moment and I stood frozen, barely able to discern the faint and muted conversation of those left over from the tournament’s crowd.

I stared forlornly into Loki’s eyes, that cold, icy green, and he glared unflinchingly back. There was only anger there, such animosity, and all of it directed towards me. 

I reached up to hold my arm where his fingers had been digging into my skin, where now there was a dull and lingering throb, and felt my eyes once again fill with tears. And then I could no longer hold his livid gaze and I looked down at the ground; it was with this small movement that the tears spilled over and rolled down my face.

Loki, perhaps thinking that it was my submission to him, turned curtly on his heel and walked away, leaving me alone. I stood there for a long and agonizing moment, heart pounding in my chest and eyes squeezed shut. I was trying my hardest not to burst into sobs right there, for there were still people around, though thankfully most of them had already headed back to the palace. But I knew many had probably seen my and Loki’s fight, had heard my outbursts, had seen him grab me and then storm away from me.

At last, when I felt at least partially in control of myself, I raised my head. I did not look for Loki; I turned around and immediately began walking back towards the palace, my cheeks wet. I held my arm, no longer for the pain, but just for something to hold onto, and struggled unsuccessfully to swallow my tears.

__

I did not burst into sobs as I thought I would upon reaching my chambers.

After I had shut the door behind me, I put my back to it and lifted my head. I slowly slid down the door, my legs suddenly very weak. I sank to the floor and pulled my knees up and buried my face in between them, arms wrapped tightly around my legs.

It was only now when I allowed the tears to fall.

I wept quietly, but hard, and I could not stop.

I kept hearing those words in his voice, reverberating in my mind.

Royal whore.

I was nothing more than a royal whore, he had said.

But Loki did not truly think that of me, did he? He cared for me, did he not? All these years he had… and yet…

He had lain with her. He had lain with Freyja all those years ago and she had not been the only one. He had taken other women to his bed, though how many I knew not. But I was not sure I would have wanted to know. The knowledge would have only served to drive me deeper into this misery.

Loki had lied to me all this time and I had never even suspected. Though there had been times when I had wondered, given his past, he had never indicated to me his unfaithfulness and I had gone through these years so blissfully unaware. And yet, he had been doing it for the past decade and I had been so blinded by him that I had never even seriously entertained the thought. I had pushed the thought of his inevitable infidelity to the recesses of my mind and had somehow managed to lull myself into this false sense of security, for the thought of him betraying me had been too painful to think of. He had hidden it so well, though, acted on the outside as if I was the only one to satisfy him.

But Loki was the prince. He could do whatever he wanted. I was still just a handmaiden—nothing more than his whore. I had no say in what he did. I knew well the dynamics of a relationship such as ours and knew that I answered to him, not the other way around. And so how had I ever deluded myself into thinking that we were equals in this? How could I possibly have let myself forget that his keeping me was a kindness on his part? He had said it. I had forgotten my place, while obviously he had not. He was so far above me and I was but dirt beneath his feet.

But still I did not understand. Did Loki not care for me? He had been so good to me these past years. I thought of when he had brought my father from Vanaheim, thought of how he looked at me with such adoration in his gaze. So how could he do this to me? Did I mean so little to him? Had I ever meant anything to him, been anything more to him than simply a royal whore?

Now I remembered the night of the banquet when the Ljósálfr ambassador had humiliated me in front of nearly the entire high table. I remembered having asked Loki if he had ever lied to me and he had said no. Why had I believed him? Why had I been so stupid as to believe him? And afterwards when I had been despairing over the fact that the others did not see me as an equal, Loki had told me that it did not matter what anybody thought of us. I only needed to care what he thought and what he thought was that I was not nothing to him.

But he had been lying. Everything that had ever come out of his mouth was a lie. How could it not have been when he was taking those other women to his bed behind my back?

While it had all felt real to me, it had been but a game to Loki. While I was unwittingly falling deeper and deeper into this, he was playing me and lying to me and making a fool of me.

Though in the beginning I had suspected that Loki would not remain loyal to me, some small part of me thought perhaps that it would not end like this. But then how else could it have ended? I had always known that Loki and I would never have a happy ending, but I had not anticipated this agony; I felt as if I was dying.

And now the tears came harder and it was as if I could not breathe. But I tightened my arms on my legs and tried to curl up even further into myself.

I knew what I was, knew what I had always been. When I had first come to Asgard, I had heard whispers and gossip about me, about the Van prince’s whore come from Vanaheim. But it had never been so brutally pointed out like that. Never would I have thought that it would be Loki who would reduce me to this.

Had he said that because I had grown angry at him upon realizing that Freyja’s words held truth?

I remembered a long time ago when I had caught him with that serving girl. I had convinced myself then that it was not betrayal, for we had never lain together, but this was different. Though I was only his mistress and he was the prince and he did not answer to me, I still felt it betrayal.

I did not understand how he could have lied to me all these years and yet treated me so well. That almost made it worse. So why had he been like that? Why had he been so good to me if I was not enough? Loki had always made me feel as if I was more than what I really was. He had, for the most part, always been able to make me not regret all that I was not. He had made me feel so loved and wanted.

And yet behind the smiles and the laughs and the kisses were nothing but lies.

How could I have been so unaware? How could I have dared to think myself special in his mind? Had I really thought that, that I was the only one? Had I truly hoped that he might think of me as more than simply his mistress? But I had never before felt this with anybody. Loki was the first one to have ever incited anything in me.

But now I wondered if this was all my fault.

Was it my fault that I had not been able to keep him?

I felt this agonizing and gnawing self-doubt now, for obviously I had not been enough for him. Was there something wrong with me that drove him to seek the company of other women? Loki had told me many times before that I pleased him fantastically, but evidently he had been lying, and I had lain in his arms and soaked it all up, so laughably, so naively oblivious.

I had always thought that Loki was enough for me. At night when we lay together and he held me in his arms, I did not think I could ever be in want of anything more. When he would press his face into my neck and smile and breathe my name, how excited he would get when he presented me with some gift, be it a new necklace or a book of runes. How when we walked together, he would hold me close and gaze upon me with such fondness, as if unashamed to let others know that I was his.

But all else was forgotten when he spent himself inside another woman. How he must have forgotten me, must have forgotten how much he cared for me. I wondered if he ever thought of me afterwards. I wondered if he ever felt regret.

It was now more than ever when I wished I had not told him that I loved him.

Had I not known deep down that he did not love me back? What could I have possibly been hoping for? And yet I had dared to say it. Perhaps I had thought he felt something for me—anything. But today he had made clear his feelings and true thoughts about me.

Now I slowly raised my head, eyes still blurry with tears and cheeks swollen from crying. I bit my lip hard, trying to hold back a sob. I braced my hands on the floor and shakily rose to my feet, my entire body weighted down with this misery. I went slowly to my bed, lay down on my side, and curled up again.

I wished I had never told him. I wished I had never felt it in the first place. I wished that, even now, I still did not love him. I did not want to love him anymore. I did not want to feel anything but hatred for him.

Never in my life had I felt so demeaned and insignificant. Not even when I had been with Valdrlund.

Valdrlund had lain with other women and I had never felt this. He had berated me and called me names far worse than whore, but I had not loved him. Even when he had hit me and taken me when I did not want it, it had never felt like this.

I had never told Valdrlund that I loved him.

I had never smiled at him like I smiled at Loki and he had never caused my heart to flutter with merely a kiss. I had never before felt this type of adulation and I had so foolishly let myself be swept away by it all. A long time ago, I had finally managed to convince myself that Loki was not like Valdrlund, despite all of our initial tribulations. And after it, there had never been a reason to question it, for Loki had treated me so well, but now…

They could have been the same. I saw now that Loki was, in truth, no different from Valdrlund. One of the only differences was that Loki had sought to spare me the knowledge of his infidelity. Valdrlund had never lied to me about taking other women to his bed, but he had never tried to hide it, either. He did not think he was doing wrong. But apparently Loki did or he would not have kept it from me all this time and made such a fool of me.

I had not much cared when Valdrlund took other women to his bed, either. In the very beginning, I may have felt somewhat betrayed, but with how Valdrlund began treating me, that feeling of betrayal quickly dissipated. But the thought of Loki lying with other women, kissing them and touching them as he did me, tore me apart.

I had known in the beginning that Loki was like Valdrlund, but after we had become intimate, after I had blinded myself with this near reverence of him, I had chosen to ignore it. But I had always been right; Loki was just like him. Though Valdrlund had not always been unkind to me, I had learned well from the way he was and I had seen it in Loki. That was part of the reason I had not wished to give myself to him in the beginning.

But before now, Loki had never been cruel to me—not like Valdrlund could be to me. Loki had never before debased me like this; never once had he struck me, never once called me a name. Not slut or bitch or whore… until now.

I could still hardly believe it. He did not really think that about me, did he? He could not… but obviously some part of him believed what he had said or he would not have said it. Some part of him did not see me as anything more than a body that warmed his bed.

Now I thought of myself lying in his bed at night, when perhaps the night before or the next there would be another woman there. How when he told me how beautiful I was, how wonderful I was, he might be whispering that same thing into another woman’s ear.

I squeezed my eyes shut and the sobs burst out of me, then, where before I had only been crying quietly. I pressed my face into my already soaked pillow to muffle my sobs, but it did not do much good. My body shook with my cries and I gripped the bedcovers so tightly that my knuckles turned white.

I had lost Loki long ago, it seemed, but then had I ever really had him? I had given all of myself to him, whatever had been left over from Vanaheim, but even that had not been enough. I had not been enough—not for Valdrlund and now not for Loki.

What a fool, what a fool, I kept repeating in my mind. Why had I allowed myself to fall in love with him? To allow myself to be so easily—so willingly—deceived?

I felt humiliated and now it all seemed so idiotic, my being in love with him.

I thought of how when I was younger, even before I had come to Valdrlund and after, I had always imagined what love might be. I had thought that it was when the other looked at you and merely their gaze could cause your heart to beat faster or your lips to tingle in anticipation of their kiss. When the barest touch could send these frantic little jolts through your body and just the sound of their voice seemed a physical caress.

And though those had just been my own childish fantasies, I had believed in them.

I had never felt any of that with Valdrlund and thought that I might never feel it with anybody.

But I had with Loki. Loki had been all of that to me.

His very touch seemed to melt me and when he came up behind me and wrapped me in his arms and kissed me, I thought I could stay there forever. When he held me under the covers and pressed his body so close to mine and tangled our legs together, it seemed everything was right.

And despite it all, I had been so audacious as to imagine more. I should have been satisfied with my position and with what I had, but I was not. Sometimes I could not help but to envision what my life might have been like if Valdrlund had not ruined me.

I had always known that nothing would ever come of Loki and I, but sometimes I would be so bold as to imagine waking up next to Loki and my belly would be round with his child and he would call me wife and I him husband. He would kiss my belly and tell me how happy we would be and everything was as I would never know.

I had never told Loki that part. That night that I had so carelessly revealed that I had imagined our children, I had not told him that I had also imagined us wed and happy. I had regretted telling him about any of it nearly immediately after, but he had seemed to take it in stride and I could tell he had tried to assuage me of my worries despite his own uneasiness.

But how could I have told him that? How could I have told him that I had pictured us together like that? I knew it was impossible, but I knew I would never have that with anybody and if I could have, I would have wanted it with Loki.

Oh, what a pathetic woman I was. It had all been so laughable and meaningless and yet still I had dared to imagine it all. All of my fantasies were nothing more than the foolish, worthless thoughts of a naïve and stupid heart.

And gods, how stupid I was. Even after all this time and I was still nothing more than a body to him. Even after all we had shared, my worth to him was only that of a whore. To think that when we lay together and I was filled with these thoughts of happiness and fulfillment, he might feel nothing.

None of it had meant anything. Those murmured endearments, those playful and yet tender kisses. When he teased me and touched me and pulled me into his bed, when he held me afterwards, none of it had meant anything.

But why had he kept me for so long? Why had he put so much effort into weaving this web of lies? Why had he not been rid of me after Midgard? If he considered me nothing more than a royal whore, why had he continued with this cruel charade?

But I suppose it did not matter. None of it mattered anymore.

Everything had come crashing down; my entire world, this reality I had created for myself, had disintegrated around me and there was nothing left to hold onto. It seemed everything I had ever wanted, everything that I had held dear, was gone in an instant.

When I had basked in the glow of Loki’s affection, he had been able to make me forget my brokenness. He had, to a degree, made me forget that I would never marry and might never be happy. But now he had betrayed me utterly. He would never love me and never see me as anything more than his whore.

Gods, how it hurt. I had trusted Loki unwaveringly. Whatever he would have asked of me, I would have done it for him. I had already given all of myself to him, bared myself to him in every way I knew how, and had believed all this time that it had meant something to him.

But it had not.

It had never meant anything to him. How could it have?

Now I wished that I had never come here. I wished Loki had left me alone all those years ago and wished I had not been so daft as to fall into it all. I wished the queen had not planned this for us. Would she have suspected this? Had she ever anticipated Loki hurting me in this way?

I did not know what I had ever done to deserve this. I did not understand why it had to be this way.

Everything had crumbled away to nothing and I felt completely lost now with nothing left for me but this agony.

Eventually, my sobs tapered off and I lay quiet in this miserable silence, too weary to cry anymore. I only stared teary-eyed at the wall. My room darkened as night fell, but I did not rouse myself to start a fire. I did not even consider going to the banquet tonight. I was not in a state to appear in front of others. And besides, I knew I would see him there and I could not do it. And so I was content to lie here engulfed in the pain of Loki’s treachery.

I did not know what to do in the slightest.

Should I accept it and let him remain unfaithful to me as I had with Valdrlund? But it pained me to imagine it, for me to lie with Loki and then to know that he would spend his desires inside another woman the next night, to lie above her as he did me, to kiss her so tenderly as he did me, and he would whisper to her afterwards and I would be lying in my bed heartbroken and alone.

But that was foolish, too absurd and too humiliating to even consider.

I knew Loki was angry with me, what with my confession, and it seemed there was nothing I could do to mollify him. But I was not so sure now that I wanted to. I had no desire to speak with him anytime soon—had no desire to think of this anymore—and I doubted that he wished to speak with me. In that moment, though, I do not think I would have cared if I never saw him again.

And so I lay there for hours afterwards and it was not until much later when sleep finally claimed me, allowing me to forget everything, even if only for a few precious hours.


	37. Part I - Chapter 37

Loki

As soon as I turned away from Stjarna, my eyes landed on Freyja.

She was standing a good distance away and when our gazes locked, my eyes narrowed. I immediately began heading towards her, body tense and fists clenched. Even from here, I could discern the fear that briefly flickered over her face. As I came upon her, she took a frantic step backwards, eyes wide.

“Your Highness!” she gasped as I reached out and took her roughly by the arm.

I could have killed her in that moment. I wanted to. I wanted to hurt her, but I held myself in check and only dragged her off to the side and away from the potentially curious eyes of others.

Freyja made a sound of protest and tried to dislodge me, but she could not loosen my hold on her. When I finally stopped and let go of her, though, she yanked away from me and said indignantly, “How dare you touch me!”

“Shut up,” I snarled.

She flinched at my tone; she probably had never been handled like this or so discourteously spoken to.

“What did you say?” I demanded irately, nearly hovering over her. She was much shorter than me, only coming up to my chest. I thought that might have intimidated her somewhat, but Freyja only glared up at me defiantly.

I took a threatening step towards her and she recoiled from me, no longer looking so bold. I caught another spark of fear in her eyes and she glanced worriedly to the side, as if silently beseeching for somebody to come and help her. Most likely she was looking for Frey, but the last I had seen him he had been with Eir.

I reached up, took her jaw in my hand, and forced her head back to me. She wrenched away and drew herself up to her full height, which would have been laughable if I had not been so furious.

“Do not touch me,” she hissed.

I took yet another step towards her, but she did not back down this time. But I was not in the mood for games. I was dangerously close to snapping.

“I will do worse to you if you do not spit it out. Now!”

She flinched at my outburst and pressed her lips tightly together. Finally she said, “I only told Lady Stjarnavetr of our history. What is the harm in that?”

“Our history?” I spat. “What fucking history?”

We had fucked twice in the past twenty years and neither of our trysts had been anything more than something physical. I would have hardly called that a history.

But Freyja only raised her eyebrows and smiled up at me.

That ridiculous smile of hers nearly sent me over the edge. Did she think I would not grab her again? Did she think I would not hurt her? Did she think her status as hostage, or rather honored guest in Asgard, would keep me from wrapping my fingers around her neck?

Her grin widened. “Do you not remember, Loki? Allow me to recount—”

But before she could get another word out, I grabbed her by the neck—such a small neck she had—and pulled her close to me. She put one hand on my chest and the other she wrapped around my wrist. She was staring up at me no longer in condescension, but in fear.

“Do you think I won’t hurt you?” I growled, keeping my voice low, for our faces were only inches apart.

“Loki,” she said pathetically, her voice having so suddenly lost its haughtiness.

But just then there came a cool voice, cutting through this nearly palpable tension. “Your Highness.”

I turned my head to look.

Frey was standing there almost casually, staring at me holding his sister by the throat.

I made a sound of frustration and looked back down at Freyja. Even with my fingers wrapped around her neck, she was now smiling arrogantly up at me.

Gods, how I wanted to hurt her. But I doubted Frey would just stand by if I did. I knew he would not take my being the prince into account if it came to protecting his idiotic whore of a sister. And so I violently released her and turned to brush past Frey, who only stared at me with that chronic, irritatingly placid expression of his.

I saw now that Stjarna was not where I had left her. I reasoned that she must have gone back up to the palace while Freyja and I were bickering, but I would not go to her. I wanted nothing more than to go to my own chambers and fume in silence.

But then, “Loki!”

I glanced to the side and saw with a burst of irritation that Thor was coming towards me. He was smiling like an idiot and did not seem to notice my sour expression; he could be incredibly obtuse like that.

When he came up to me, he clapped me on the back and laughed, “Congratulations, brother! I did not see you after your fight, you ran off.”

I angrily brushed him off and began walking again, but he easily caught up with me.

“Loki? What is wrong?” he inquired.

“It is nothing,” I snapped.

“Obviously it is not nothing,” he continued.

But when I ignored him and kept walking, my strides long and terse, he grabbed my shoulder and forced me to still. “Loki, stop. Loki!”

I turned on him and almost shoved him away, but managed at the last moment to control myself. Thor furrowed his brows when he saw my eyes, which were just beginning to swim with tears. But they were not tears of sadness—I was angry. I could not remember the last time I had been so infuriated; my entire body was burning and I’m sure Thor could now discern the subtle trembling.

Thor said, more warily now, “Loki, what is it?”

“It is Freyja,” I managed through gritted teeth. “That—that bitch, I could fucking kill her—”

“What happened?” he demanded.

“She told…” and now my voice tapered off and I looked to the side, almost in defeat. “She told Stjarna.”

“Told her what?”

I was quiet for a long moment before finally admitting, “Stjarna is not the only one. She is not the only one I take to my bed.”

Now Thor looked at me in this sort of disappointment, which immediately incensed me again.

“And now she knows?” he asked calmly. He did not seem terribly surprised, but then why would he be? He was my brother; he knew how I was, probably better than anybody else.

“Yes,” I responded sharply.

He sighed. “Well, it is your own fault, brother.”

“Yes,” I bit out. We stood there in silence for a moment longer before I said quietly, “I… I called her a whore.”

Thor, who had been looking off to the side, glanced back at me. “You called her a what?”

“A whore,” I repeated, gritting my teeth. “A royal whore.”

“Oh, Loki,” Thor sighed again, giving a little shake of his head. “Why did you do that?”

“She would not be quiet! She kept shouting and I… I just wanted her to be quiet.”

Thor scoffed. “So were you going to speak with her now? Did I interrupt?”

“Are you stupid?” I said viciously. “Of course I was not going to see her.”

“Why not?” he demanded indignantly. “It is the least—”

“Stop!” I hissed, keeping my voice low. “I do not want to speak with her. And besides, do you truly think she would wish to see me now?”

Thor looked pensive for a moment before hesitantly agreeing with me. “No.”

I stared lividly at him for only a few more seconds before turning on my heel and stalking back up towards the palace. But then Thor was beside me again. I rolled my eyes and was about to tell him to fuck off when he asked seriously, “Then are you going to the banquet?”

“The banquet?” I snorted. “Of course not.”

“Loki, you must go. Father will be proud to announce our victories tonight. He will be disappointed if you do not come—”

“Fuck what he would be disappointed in!” I shouted, stopping suddenly. At Thor’s mention of Father, I felt a surge of anger. I leaned towards him, but he did not recoil in the slightest; he only cocked an eyebrow as if unamused. I growled, “I doubt Father truly cares whether I go or not. He probably wishes Frey would have won, anyway.”

Thor rolled his eyes. “You are being stupid, Loki. And you are going to the banquet. I will make you.”

“You will not make me do anything,” I retorted bitterly.

Now Thor put his hand on the side of my neck and leaned in. He made me look at him. “You will go willingly or I will make you go. You know I can. And do not do anything else stupid, brother. You’ve already done enough stupid things today.” And then he pushed my head to the side and I stumbled sideways a step before quickly and angrily regaining my posture.

But Thor was already walking away and I did not think it worth it to shout after him.

__

That night at the banquet, I sat in silence.

Even when Father had the day’s victors stand and the hall to applaud us, I did not smile or throw my arms up as did Thor or Týr. And when Father gave a small speech afterwards, wishing luck to those who would fight tomorrow to contend for the champion’s spot in the afternoon, I could only look towards the handmaiden’s table where Stjarna’s usual spot sat vacant.

No longer did I feel anger. I had tried my absolute best to hold onto it, for it was more familiar to me and easier to deal with than this now nearly crushing remorse. I could not remember the last time I had felt this wretched. I knew Stjarna was not here tonight because of me, because of what I had done and what I had said; I knew she must be in her rooms and I daresay I knew what she was doing.

I did not eat nor take part in the animated conversation of those around me. Unfortunately, though, I was able to somehow pick Freyja’s voice out of the dull roar. I could hear her laughing even though she sat much farther down the table. Every time she giggled or remarked on something, I would grit my teeth and stare down at my still full plate and tighten my fingers on my cup in annoyance.

I had been sitting there for a while, internally cursing Freyja—as well as myself—when a low voice drew me out of my heated internal ramblings.

“Loki.”

I immediately relaxed my firm grip on my cup and looked over, hearing how the conversation around me abruptly died away to nothing.

Father, who was seated a couple of chairs down from me, was looking at me.

I straightened up and raised my eyebrows. “Father?”

He remarked, “That was very impressive this morning.”

But before I could thank him for his compliment, having felt a small spark of happiness despite everything that had happened today, he said in that smooth and inexpressive voice of his, “I did not realize you had become so adept at the magic of the Vanir.”

I stared at him for a brief and tense moment, my mind gone completely blank. Behind him, Mother was looking at me and I could discern the nervousness in her expression.

I tried to keep my voice steady. “Yes, I have… practiced much on my own.”

Now I saw how the edge of his lips slightly curled up. “Have you.”

We gazed at one another and I knew he did not believe me, but I did not have time to wonder about it, for he continued, “Nonetheless, congratulations on your victory today, Loki. May you do well tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Father,” I said quietly, slightly inclining my head towards him.

When he then turned forwards and remained quiet, the conversation at the table quickly came back to life. Nobody else commented on my victory over Frey, though there certainly was enough praise for Thor who had defeated Vidar.

But I hardly paid attention. For the rest of the night, I could only think of Stjarna. I kept fluctuating between various degrees of anger and regret and kept glancing guiltily at Stjarna’s empty seat.

When finally the banquet had ended, I went straight to my chambers.

Once I had shut my door behind me, I walked slowly to stand in front of my fireplace. The fire burned weakly and as I stared into the crackling orange, this sudden feeling of anger welled up inside me and I lashed out at the nearest object, which happened to be one of the chairs on either side of me. I kicked at it and it overturned and smashed loudly into the nearest wall and I could hear the wood crack and splinter against the stone.

I stood there, fists clenched and breaths coming shallowly. And then as suddenly as it had come, the anger simply seemed to drain away and I fell back into the other chair, my body heavy with this guilt. I brought my arm up and put my hand over the side of my face and miserably thought back to this morning.

I had been in my tent before the tournament’s start, trying to fortify myself for later when I would inevitably tell Stjarna I was leaving her, when she had come to see me. I remembered how I had yelled at her, refused to even hear her, and almost made her cry; I had felt shame when I had seen the tears in her eyes, but I had not known what else to do. What could I possibly have done when in just a few hours’ time I planned to end us?

And yet I remembered how after defeating Frey, there had been that moment of forgetfulness when I had sought her out in the stands. Even from my spot on the field, I had seen how she smiled at me and for that brief moment, I had almost forgotten what I meant to do.

But I had gone to find her afterwards, as I had told her. I had thought it better if we got it all over as soon as possible. I did not wish to needlessly drag this out; I thought it might make it easier for both of us.

After I had left Eir’s tent, I went up towards the stands to search for Stjarna. I had expected for her to be with Mother’s other women, but I had caught sight of her by her hair and she had been walking slowly along, alone and head bowed down. I had come up on her and called her name and when she had looked at me, it had appeared as if she was on the verge of tears.

At first, I did not understand why she looked so. I thought she still might have been somewhat distraught from earlier when I had yelled at her and though I had felt a pang of guilt, I had not addressed her state. I had felt bad, but I did not want to get any further into this. I had told myself that I must do this now before anything else came up or before I could question myself and lose my resolve.

And so I had tried to take her arm, but she had pulled away from me and focused her teary gaze on something behind me. I had turned, wondering what could possibly be making her act so oddly, and caught sight of Freyja. She had been standing a fair distance away from us, though I could tell she was watching us.

It was in that moment that I realized what had Stjarna so distraught and I almost had not wanted to turn around and face her.

I remembered thinking that this couldn’t be happening—not now. What had happened? Did Stjarna know for certain?

Despite my apprehension, I had slowly turned around, thinking that not all may be lost yet.

I had calmly asked Stjarna what was wrong, hoping and praying that it was not what I thought it was, even though I had been bent on leaving her.

But it was.

Freyja had told her.

She knew.

My first instinct had been to lie to Stjarna. I had already done it for so long, so unthinkingly, that it was no problem for me to simply do it again. And so I had lied, trying to subdue this most unfamiliar feeling of panic slowly making its way to the surface. Yet I had managed to remain impassive and almost dismissive of her worries.

I had told her that I had indeed lain with Freyja, but it was the time before she had come to Asgard. Stjarna, however, had quickly repudiated my words and looked so pathetic and sad. She had asked me not to lie to her and I had only been able to stare at her, realizing she knew and there was no point anymore to lie or avoid it.

And so I had admitted it to her, thinking perhaps that Stjarna would not want me anymore and it might make this entire process a little easier. Yes, I told her, I had lain with Freyja after we had been together. But the moment I said it, the moment I confessed to having betrayed her with Freyja, I had regretted it. As soon as she had closed her eyes and turned away from me, body drooped in sorrow, I had regretted it.

I immediately wished I had not said it, for surely it would all come out now.

And it did.

Before I could speak—but what would I have possibly said to ease the hurt of my previous words?—she asked me, barely able to keep herself together it seemed, if there had been others. Had Freyja been the only one?

But I had no longer been so willing to admit everything. I did not want to tell her; I did not want to hurt her even more, even though just moments before that had somewhat been my intent. I had just shattered everything with my nearly callous admission and I had not realized that it would feel like this.

No longer had I felt indifferent, but afraid. With Stjarna looking at me like that, waiting for me to confirm my unfaithfulness to her, I had only been able to stare at her. I had not known what to say, had been unable to confess to her that I had indeed taken other women to my bed, so many faceless, nameless others.

I had struggled to find the words, sought frantically for anything to say, but by then it was too late.

Stjarna had gleaned from my silence.

And then the way her face had crumpled, the way the tears had come so easily…

It was in that moment that everything came crashing down. Everything went through my mind at once: what a fool I had been, how I did not truly wish to leave her, how could I have ever been so stupid as to even consider it? What nonsense had I been thinking? Had those three little words she had said to me really put me in such a state these past days? It all had suddenly seemed so silly.

But now everything was falling apart in front of my eyes and I could do nothing to stop it. It was too far gone and no matter how desperately I would try to hold it all together, it would all still collapse.

She had turned from me, endeavoring to suppress her tears, and I had said her name, practically begged her to look at me. I had tried to touch her, my impassivity and resolve suddenly gone in that moment, but she was inconsolable and pulled away from me; she had not even been able to bear my touching her.

I would have spoken to her, I would have begged her to listen to me, though I knew not in the least what I would have said. How could I have possibly justified my actions of the past decade to her? Every unforgivable thing I had done?

But then in her sorrow she had started yelling.

Surely she had been drawing attention to us and that was the last thing I wanted, for it to be known that I had had some falling out with my mistress in the middle of the day in front of so many others.

I had told Stjarna we would talk about this later, perhaps somewhere more private, but she kept yelling and crying and no longer was it worry or shame I was feeling, but anger. She kept growing louder and louder and I could not think of any way to silence her without making a scene.

If only she would have stopped, I would have… but what would I have done? Tried to explain to her why I had taken other women to my bed? Expected her to simply accept it? But she had not stopped and in that moment, all I had been able to think of was how dare she reprimand me as if she was above me? How dare she speak to me like that when she was what she was? And to speak like that to me in front of so many others, no less?

I had grabbed her without thinking, unable to quell the anger and frustration bubbling up inside me, and told her to hold her tongue. And when still she did not, it had just come out. I had been looking for anything to silence her and silence her I had.

Even after I had said it—reduced her to nothing but a whore—it had not helped to alleviate my anger and I remembered how she had immediately ceased her remonstrations, the way she had looked at me, how her chin had trembled and how wide and shiny her eyes had been with tears at my utter betrayal. But I had not seen any of that, not truly, and had shoved her away from me instead of having immediately apologized as I rightly should have done. I should have fallen to my knees and begged her forgiveness for daring to call her that.

What had I been trying to do to even warrant that? To get her to stop yelling, stop making a scene, to remind her that she was not above me. She had no right to be speaking to me like that, but… I could not believe I had demeaned her like that, my lover for nearly a decade. So unflinchingly had I done it, too—so callously had I reduced her to that.

Just a royal whore.

Now I leaned forward and put my head in my hands and slowly raked my fingers through my hair.

I hated myself in that moment. I loathed that I had done this.

Everything had been so good until that Vana bitch…

But was I blaming Freyja now?

Though she had meant to seduce me all those years ago, I had willingly gone along with it, knowing all the while exactly what she was doing, and I remembered having enjoyed it. I remembered having made the decision to continue with it all, remembered having decided to chase the thrill that fucking other women gave me.

Had I not just a few weeks later sought the company of another woman? Had I not told Stjarna that she was not to come to my chambers that night and then taken that woman—I did not remember her name, barely remembered what she had looked like, just some servant selected from the many I had seen at the feast that night—into my bed?

And had I not continued, knowing it was wrong, and yet so stupidly never suspecting that it might fall apart like this? I had never given much thought to it—I had fucked those other women when I wanted it, come back to Stjarna when I wanted her. I had enjoyed it at first, but then the excitement of it all began to fade and it did not bring me as much pleasure as it once had. I found that Stjarna was the only one who could so completely satisfy me.

Yet I had not been able to stop. It almost seemed this endless, damaging cycle. Sometimes after I had lain with another woman and been disappointed in them, I had told myself I would not do it again. What was the point? But then later I would see one who incited in me that feeling and I would fall into it all yet again, even though I knew in the back of my mind that it would never be as good as what I already had waiting for me.

And I was the prince. I should have had even better mistresses than Stjarna anyway, but she had managed to catch and hold me all those years ago and I had yet been unable to tear myself away. I had told myself all this time that it was her body, it was the way she so willingly gave herself to me. Even though it was unconventional and true that the others looked down on me for keeping her—for their mistresses at least were of some standing, while Stjarna had come from absolutely nothing and had lain with that Van idiot for nearly a century—I had kept her. Some might have thought that Stjarna was tainted or undesirable because she had belonged to another man for so long, but I had never seen her like that. Even in knowing she had once carried his child, I still had taken her for myself. I had not cared in the least bit what the others thought.

And then I thought again of this morning, how determined I had been to end it with her, how determined I had been to take her back to the palace, sit her down, and tell her that we were over. I had thought I would be able to handle it, for I thought had managed to fortify myself. Though I truly did not wish to be rid of her, I thought there no other way. I had thought I would be able to do it, but the moment she found out I had been taking other women behind her back, I did not want it anymore. Everything had gone wrong and I did not want it anymore.

I just wanted Stjarna and I wanted everything to go back to how it had been before she had told me she loved me.

But it was too late for that.

It was only now—much too late—that I realized none of it had been worth it. Not one of those women had been worth this torment and I wished to the gods I had not done this.

Why had I even lain with them? To chase some ridiculous thrill? Even in the beginning they had never brought me anything but fleeting pleasure. But Stjarna… it seemed she lived for me. When I lay with her, it felt like nothing else; when we were simply together, I was content.

And now I kept thinking of that look Stjarna had gotten on her face when she had realized my infidelity and I groaned to myself. She had to hate me now. There was no way she could not hate me now. I hated me. But would it not have been better if she hated me? Instead of loving me? I wanted to laugh if not for the way my throat closed up. How could she possibly love me now with everything I had done?

But did I deserve her love? Did I deserve her at all? Stjarna was so good and sometimes, even years after we had been together, I had wondered as to how she even could stand to be around me, for it seemed she and Thor and Mother were the only ones in all of Asgard who genuinely liked me. But she had always been there, always endeavored to cheer me.

And look what I had done to her.

I knew deep down that I did not deserve her. Stjarna had told me many times before how good I was to her, how lucky she was, but now I only felt this overwhelming remorse. I had never been good to her—not really. And then when I had begun lying with those other women, I had known in the back of my mind that what I was doing was wrong, but I had not cared.

And now everything had fallen apart.

Gods, what an idiot I was. An absolute fucking idiot.

Now I thought back to when she had told me she loved me. I had not even had the decency to properly respond to her. What must she have thought? Could she still have loved me after that pathetic display? And yet she had come to me again this morning, perhaps wanting to explain herself, and I had only found it in myself to scream at her and to tell her I did not want her there.

I wondered now as to how Stjarna could love me at all, for she had to know that nothing would ever come of us. She had to know that one day she would no longer share my bed. She had to know that and still she had said it.

I recalled the night before how I had convinced myself the only way to deal with this was to end our relationship. I had told myself Stjarna was my mistress and nothing more. She would never be anything more than that and though I cared deeply for her—how could I not after everything we had been through?—I did not love her. I could not allow myself to love her. But when she had said it to me, it had filled me with this almost angry trepidation. It was when she had said that that I had realized that we had gone too deep. Why had I not ended it long ago? Had I been so stupid as to think that she might never develop deeper feelings? Had I been so stupid as to think that I myself… but no. She had simply become far too attached to me and that was all there was.

And now was the perfect moment to end it, I knew. Now was the perfect moment to leave her alone with her grief and to never look back.

But merely the thought of leaving it be, of letting this all play out and to see it all deteriorate before my eyes, set in me this panic. Where before I had been so resolved to leave her, now it was really here and I could not stand the thought of ending us. I was not finished with her. I still wanted her by my side, still wanted her in my bed. I still wanted Stjarna to smile at me and laugh when I teased her. I could not comprehend never laughing with her, never holding her in my arms, never kissing her again.

No. I did not want to leave Stjarna. I could not. I had to fix this, I had to mend this hurt between us, this hurt I had done to her.

Now I stood up out of the chair and paced furiously, thinking on what to do.

I had to speak to her. I had to… but what could I do? I had never been in a situation like this and had undoubtedly nearly irreparably damaged our relationship. All I could think of to do was to beg her forgiveness and tell her I still wanted her and I was not angry at her. I would not try to justify myself, as I knew there was no validation for my actions. It would only demean her further if I were to try to make excuses for my having taken other women to my bed. It was the least I could do, I thought. But part of me also only wished to see her. I had seen her earlier this afternoon, but it felt an eternity since then.

After only another moment of hesitation, I went to my door, threw it open, and left my chambers. I walked determinedly through the darkened corridors, thinking with some sense of sorrow how many times I had come this way, oftentimes during the night like this. Stjarna spent most nights in my chambers, but sometimes on the nights that she did not and I was in want of her or simply wished to lie next to her, I would get out of my own bed and go to hers. I would go into her rooms quietly and crawl into the bed with her. Usually she was quite happy to see me and would open her arms so lovingly for me, though sometimes she was displeased that I had woken her up. However, I was often able to quickly placate her.

I wondered if we would we ever go back to how we had been before. The thought that it might never be the same between us pained me and made worse this guilt sitting heavily in the pit of my stomach.

Finally, I made it to Stjarna’s door. I stood there in the darkness, my form barely lit by the nearest flickering torch on the wall. I was still for a moment, listening, but did not hear anything from within.

I went to open the door, but just as I grasped the handle I stopped.

I thought that after today, Stjarna would probably not wish to see me and she certainly would not like for me to simply walk into her chambers unannounced and uninvited. And so I raised my hand and tentatively knocked. I felt foolish, for I could not remember the last time I had knocked on her door for admittance.

Nonetheless, I waited a few moments, but heard nothing.

I splayed my hand on the door and lightly rested my forehead against the cool wood.

“Stjarna?” I said quietly. I waited for a little bit, but when I did not hear anything, I swallowed and continued, hoping she could hear me. “Stjarna, I am sorry. For everything. For Freyja and… and those others. For those things I said.”

Nothing.

“I know you are upset with me, but I must—I need to see you. Please.”

When still there was no response, I closed my eyes and leaned against the door, almost in defeat.

I briefly considered once more just going in, but knew Stjarna would hate that and I did not want her any angrier with me than she surely already was.

I did not knock again, though I said her name once more. But when once again there was no response, I brought my hand up and slowly ran my fingers through my hair.

I stood there for a long time in the darkness, unsure of what to do. I so badly wished to speak with her—if only to see her—but I could not bring myself to knock on her door or even say her name again.

Finally, when I realized that she was not going to speak with me tonight, I turned around and slowly made my way back to my own chambers.

Tomorrow after the tournament I would speak to her. Tomorrow I would remedy this.


	38. Part I - Chapter 38

Loki

The fourth day of the tournament dawned bright and clear.

There were only four of us left: Thor, Baldr, Týr, and myself. I would have worried about facing Thor this morning, for I knew I would certainly lose, but my mind was occupied with things of a much more delicate nature. Even as we all stood there near the edge of the field, already clad in our armor and awaiting word on who we would be facing, my eyes were searching the stands for Stjarna.

I had figured she might come to see the tournament today and that afterwards I would go and find her. I had rehearsed it in my mind: what I would say to her, how I would try to alleviate this sorrow I had inflicted on her, but I did not see her. I sought that beautiful light gold of her hair but could not discern it among all those other women and I realized with a pang that she was not here.

She had not come.

I almost did not hear when it was announced that Thor would be facing Baldr as the first fight of the morning and afterwards Týr and I would fight. I hardly reacted, for it was not the fight I was thinking of, but Stjarna. I had not even considered that she might not come. Had I truly hurt her that badly?

I sat in my tent until my fight was slated to begin and I could hear the sporadic cheering of the crowd as Thor and Baldr fought. I normally would have stood at the edge of the field to watch, but I could not focus on anything but this situation with Stjarna. That in itself was not good; I should have had my mind on the fight, thinking of the ways in which I could defeat Týr, but I simply could not concentrate.

Finally, I heard Father’s echoing voice.

Thor had won.

So it would either be me or Týr that he would face later this afternoon to vie for the champion’s spot.

I dragged myself up, grabbed my sword, and slowly made my way towards the edge of the field. As I stood there waiting, Týr walked by on his way to the opposite side of the field. He stopped near me, looking as if he had something to say, and I glanced at him.

He said, his voice edged with warning, “Do not dare to use that Vanir witchery on me, Prince.”

I stared silently at him, not even deigning to reply. I watched unconcernedly as he turned and walked away.

Finally, the time came.

Both Týr and I entered the field from opposite ends, swords in our hands. As we walked towards one another, I saw how Týr’s armor glinted gold in the sunlight. I thought how similar the color was to Stjarna’s hair, but then quickly reprimanded myself. Now was not the time to be distracted by such foolish and useless thoughts.

I drove all thoughts of Stjarna from my mind and brought back all the times I had fought Týr; I tried to remember his techniques and strategies and how he moved. How he fought was slightly different from the others, since he only had one hand, but I knew it was not too different from the way Thor fought, which did not bode well for me.

We met in the middle of the field and wordlessly bowed to one another before turning our backs and walking a few steps apart to take our respective positions. We turned and faced each other and stood there waiting for the Allfather’s command.

And when it came not moments later, neither of us moved. We both only stood there staring at each other.

But then I saw the corner of his lip twitch and I raised my sword just as he lifted his own and nearly leapt at me. I easily blocked his attack and countered with my own, which he barely managed to deflect. And so it continued.

Fighting Týr was very similar to fighting Thor, except Týr was not quite as skilled. Still, I had trouble. Many times I barely managed to repel his attacks and as the fight went on, I began to grow tired. We just kept going back and forth, neither of us seemingly able to gain the upper hand, but still inflicting a fair amount of damage to each other. Even though I was in much pain, and I hoped he was as well, I knew neither of us would so willingly concede to the other.

I thought that if I could disarm him and then perhaps get my sword to his throat, he would surrender. It was a long shot, but I had to try it. That was what it took to win; you must either have beaten your opponent so badly that they could not continue fighting, or force them to surrender. Týr was much more heavily built than me and I did not think I would be able to do to him as I had done to Frey, but then again, I also would try not to resort to seidr this time—not because Týr had threatened me, but because of Father.

And so I endeavored to disarm him, but it proved exceedingly difficult. I began to get frustrated and then suddenly, without my even realizing it, Týr was able to land a blow to my side.

I managed to keep my footing, though I stumbled sideways and gasped in pain. My entire body was already aching terribly from these incessant blows despite my armor and now Týr took the opportunity to land another blow to my back and I could not help but to drop my sword as pain radiated throughout my body.

But still I managed to spin on my heel, which Týr had clearly not anticipated, and punched him in the face. I put as much seidr behind the blow as possible, no longer caring if it displeased Father.

Týr staggered to the side and fell over. I should have immediately gone and subdued him and taken his sword, but for some reason in that moment, I turned. I looked up towards the stands, my weary eyes roving over the people. I don’t know why I did it since I knew she was not there. Perhaps I had been looking for something—hoping for anything.

There was some breathless silence and everything seemed very still and I felt this burgeoning feeling of hopelessness.

And then it was as if all sound came back and I could hear Týr coming up behind me, but before I could turn to defend myself—already too late—there came a tremendous blow to the side of my head. There was a terrible cracking sound and pain exploded behind my eyes and everything went white. He had slammed the hilt of his sword into the side of my head and I flew sideways and landed hard on the ground.

Now my vision swam with these pulsating colors and I blinked hard, trying to frantically lift up on my arms to stand and grab my sword, even though I no longer knew which way it was or how far. And then I saw movement in the corner of my eye and too late did I realize it was his boot coming straight for my face. There was another burst of agony; it felt as if my skull had been cleaved in two, the pain was so immense.

It had not even felt like this when Frey had kicked me; Týr had put as much strength behind it as he could.

I was thrown onto my back, but before I could move, Týr came up beside me, threw his sword down, and shouted, “Get up!”

I groaned and rolled onto my stomach. I lifted up on shaky arms and somehow was able to stagger to my feet, but before I could even hope to defend myself, Týr drew his fist back and punched me viciously in the face. I stumbled to the side, on the verge of falling down again, and he came up and punched me again.

This time I fell down and I did not get back up. 

The pain was too much now and I could taste blood in my mouth, could feel it running down my face, blurring my vision red, and I could barely move. I fell back limply onto the ground and Týr put his foot on my side and pushed at me, rolling me over onto my stomach. 

Only once more did I try to move; I attempted to lift up on my arms, though I knew not what I would have done, but then I felt the pressure of his foot on my back and he pushed me down and I collapsed back onto the ground with a groan of pain.

More pressure as he leaned down. I heard him whisper darkly, “I would stay down if I were you, Prince.”

My cheek was pressed against the hard dirt and even from here I could see the stands swimming red before my eyes and I knew Stjarna was not there and everything seemed lost in that moment. All of the fight went out of me and I lay still, my entire body thrumming with pain.

I barely heard Father announce Týr the winner, but I very much felt the increased pressure on my back as Týr stepped up onto me and off the other side. He had walked on me rather than over me and I groaned again, feeling a brief flare of agony, but could not move.

I only lay there, breathing hard. Every harsh intake of breath was painful, but I tried to only focus on rising. Finally, I managed to lift up on shaky arms. I was barely able to support myself, though, and my legs felt weak and so I sat there on all fours, unable to bring one of my legs forward to stand.

I closed my burning eyes, which were filling with tears; I could not tell if they were tears of frustration or humiliation or anger or even sadness. But I could feel these thousands of eyes on me, hear the blood pounding in my head and mercifully drowning out this long and terrible silence. 

Eventually, it became too much. I bent my elbows, which felt as if they were about to give out anyway, and lowered my head. I pressed my forehead into the dirt, trying to fight these damned tears. I knew now that they were not tears of humiliation, but tears of despair. Even lying here on the ground like this, I was thinking of Stjarna again. There had been few times I had ever felt this powerless in my life and I did not think there was much I could do to remedy it. Had I really been so stupid earlier as to think that I could simply fix this whole mess with Stjarna? That she might just forgive me if I sounded sincere enough? She had not come today because I had irredeemably hurt her and in that moment, I did not think there was a way in which I could resolve this.

And so I sat there for an eternity it seemed before I heard a familiar voice.

“Loki?”

I felt Thor gently slip his arm under mine and lift me up. My legs were still weak and I stumbled against him.

“Gods,” I heard him mutter as he moved to drape my arm over his shoulder.

All was deathly silent as Thor slowly led me off the field towards Eir’s tent.

As he nearly dragged me along, I said despairingly, “She—she did not come. She’s not here…”

Though Thor knew I spoke of Stjarna, he told me not to speak until we had reached Eir. I did as he said and leaned into him, fearing I might fall down.

It was then when I heard Father announce an intermission of a few hours. After that, Thor and Týr would fight to determine the winner of the tournament. He also spoke of the subsequent banquet, how its magnificence would rival the previous three.

But I could only think of Stjarna. It was as if Týr’s beating me had so brutally exposed all of my uncertainties and worries. I kept thinking of how she was not here, how that meant I had hurt her even more than I had suspected, and it discouraged me greatly.

I thought that maybe I should not go to see her as I had been so determined to do after my fight. Perhaps I had been right the night before when I had considered simply leaving everything be. Leave her to her grief and now leave me to mine. Perhaps it truly was all for the best that we parted ways.

Thor set me down outside Eir’s tent while we waited for Eir to finish with Týr. It did not take long; I obviously had not done as much damage to him as he had done to me and he smirked at us as he exited the tent and passed by us, but I could not be bothered to care in that moment.

Eir made a sound of surprise when Thor led me in. She motioned towards the table sitting in the middle of the space. “Put him there.”

Thor helped me to the table and I managed to pull myself up.

“Help me take his armor off,” Eir said, glancing briefly at my eyes, but I could not tell if she was more surprised at the blood clouding my vision or the tears.

I grimaced as they took my armor off. It hurt. Týr had not taken it easy on me, but then again he disliked me. He had put more into his beating me than simply his wishing to win the tournament. I sat there as they lifted my arms and legs and tugged at me. I was in immense pain, but silently stared ahead. Soon enough, they had me stripped down to just my pants and boots.

Eir clucked disapprovingly when she saw the state of me.

Even through my armor, Týr had managed to paint my skin with these large and deep bruises. I hoped I had inflicted something similar on him, but I doubted it.

“Týr did this?” Eir inquired softly, though she had obviously been watching the fight from the sidelines. She was just musing out loud.

“Yes,” Thor answered for me.

“Foolish, all of it,” she chided.

I could not help but to let the corner of my lips lift in a small smile.

Eir did not like tournaments and always reprimanded us for participating in them. They were unnecessarily dangerous, she always said.

Eir began with my face. She gently wiped the blood and dirt off with a wet cloth and then put her hands on my cheeks. I felt the comforting warmth of her seidr helping ease the sharp pains in my head and to knit back together the skin Týr had split. I closed my eyes and I felt this sudden weariness and immediately my body relaxed and I almost slumped forward into Eir.

“Loki?” she said worriedly.

Eir had always called me by my name even though it was forbidden for those other than the royal family to address us so intimately, but she and I had been through much together and she was like a mother to me. I did not mind her familiarity with me.

She glanced at Thor and remarked quietly, “This is not the tournament, is it?”

Thor was silent for a moment, but then explained, “It is Loki’s mistress.”

When Thor said that, it was as if I was drawn out of this painful lethargy. I would have snapped at him for having so easily revealed the cause of my grief—even to Eir—but I was very weak and could only manage to turn my head and glare at him and clench my jaw in annoyance. He gazed back at me unapologetically.

“Stjarnavetr?” Eir asked in surprise. “What has this to do with her?”

“She found out Loki’s been having others on the side,” Thor revealed immediately.

Just as I sat up, feeling a burst of frustration, and went to tell Thor to shut the fuck up, Eir pointedly sighed. I pressed my lips together and angrily looked back down at the ground, not wishing to upset Eir. As she walked around the table and splayed her fingers on my upper back, Thor looked at me unashamedly before turning around to begin perusing some of the healing supplies on one of Eir’s little tables.

I closed my eyes and relaxed, letting my head fall forward as I felt the soft heat of Eir’s magic seep into me, immediately relieving the deep aches in my muscles.

Eir then whispered, so quietly I could barely hear, “You have at least been using that spell I taught you?”

I almost imperceptibly nodded. She meant the spell to prevent pregnancy. She had taught it to me long ago when I first had begun lying with women.

“Good,” she responded, coming around the table to do the same to my front. “We would not want a repeat of—”

But when I snapped my head up, my expression thunderous, Eir stopped suddenly. I glowered at her, wordlessly warning her to be silent. That was certainly the last thing I wanted to hear about right now. I turned and looked at Thor, who had not turned around or even glanced up from his fiddling with Eir’s things. He had thankfully not heard or otherwise gleaned from Eir’s comment.

Eir stared at me for a long moment before giving a slight nod. She finished healing me in silence and when she was done, I moved on the table, amazingly no longer feeling any aches or pains.

“You may go if you wish,” Eir said, stepping away.

Thor turned around before I had a chance to slip off the table. “Eir? Would you mind if I spoke to my brother? In private?”

Eir nodded and inclined her head respectfully towards us and went outside, leaving Thor and I alone. I would have rolled my eyes, but only looked away and stared at the ground.

Finally, he asked, “What are you going to do, Loki?”

I knew what he spoke of, but I did not respond immediately.

I thought back to the night before when I had gone to Stjarna’s chambers and stood there in the darkness and practically begged her to see me. I remembered how I had apologized to her through the door, apologized for Freyja and those other women and what I had said to her.

“She will not see me,” I responded quietly to Thor, still not looking at him.

“But you are going to try to speak with her again, are you not?”

I was quiet, thinking. I had planned to. Last night when she would not see me, I had been resolved that I would speak to her today. I would try to amend all of this hurt I had caused her, for I had not been able to bear the thought of ending it with Stjarna. The thought of it was too painful, but I did not want to admit that to Thor. But going to see her did not seem like such a good idea anymore. I knew from her absence today that she had not yet forgiven me and she would still not wish to see me. It had almost been like a slap to the face, this silent rejection. But had I not essentially done the same to Stjarna that night she had told me she loved me?

When I looked up, Thor was staring at me as if I was stupid and suddenly I felt irritation instead of this overwhelming doubt.

“What?” I challenged. “Have you something to say to me?”

“Yes, I do!” he snapped, coming to stand in front of me. “You are an idiot, Loki.”

When I went to angrily stand up, Thor put his hand on the front of my shoulder and pushed me back down. “Sit down,” he ordered, sounding disgusted. He reached over and grabbed my tunic from where Eir had laid it over one of the chairs in the corner and he threw it at me.

I caught it and glared at him.

“I do not understand, Loki,” he said, shaking his head.

“Do not understand what?” I asked petulantly, going to put my tunic on.

“You speak so highly of yourself, but you know nothing. Have you not seen the way she looks at you, brother?”

I had been about to retort, but stopped suddenly at his words. I stared at him. It was almost unsettling to hear another speak of it. It had seemed only Stjarna and I were involved in this mess, but Thor had been more observant than I had given him credit for.

“Yes,” I finally bit out, letting my eyes wander down. “That is the problem.”

I had indeed noticed before how Stjarna looked at me sometimes. I had suspected as to its meaning, but thought that if it was never brought up, never addressed, everything would be fine.

“But what about you?” he demanded, ignoring my remark. “I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

Now I glanced up at him. “And what way is that?” I growled, almost daring him to say it.

But Thor only looked at me as if he felt sorry for me.

That made it even worse and so I crossly looked away and gripped the edge of the table in anger.

“Your Vana is a good woman, Loki,” Thor persisted, “but you are not being good to her.”

“What else can I do?” I countered irritably, even though just the night before I had decided that I could not stand the thought of losing her over my own stupid mistakes.

Thor shook his head. “She actually likes you, Loki. I am your brother and I love you, but nobody else likes you. But she does. Even for all of your flaws, she loves you and look what you’ve done to her.”

When I was silent, trying to swallow my anger—though I could not tell if it was anger at Thor or myself—he continued, sounding upset. “I do not understand how you can be like this! There is a woman who loves you and you hurt her like this and only push her away. How can you do this?”

I gritted my teeth. I wished he would stop saying that damned word.

When I did not reply, he pressed it. “How can you do this, Loki?”

“I am not like you, Thor!” I shouted suddenly, jumping off the table and going to stand in front of him. “I have never kept mistresses and I have never felt for others as you do. I do not! I am not like you!”

Thor stared coolly at me, seemingly unaffected by my outburst. “And yet you kept her all this time, didn’t you?”

I turned away from him and took in a deep, shuddering breath. “I should not have kept her for so long. I should have gotten rid of her in the beginning.” And it was true; I should have done that, but Stjarna had brought me such pleasure that I had not been able to tear myself away.

Thor said quietly, “All I know is that she loves you and you love her.”

As soon as he said it, I felt resentment at his ridiculous assertion. I turned on him and hissed, “I do not love her.”

When Thor looked skeptical, I angrily continued. “I can’t love her. Nothing will ever come of us. It is not as if she will ever be anything more than my mistress, just as Ágaetliga will never be anything more than your mistress.”

“But I do not love Ágaetliga,” Thor answered calmly. “You love your Vana.”

“Even if I did,” I said venomously, “what good is it, Thor? Hmm? What use is it?”

Now Thor looked exasperated. “There is no use for it, Loki. It just… it makes you happy. There is nothing else to it.”

I only stared at him before turning away. I had nothing else to say to him.

Finally, Thor came and stood in front of me. He put his hand on the side of my neck. “You do not speak of her often to me, but when you do you seem different. She makes you happy, brother, and you are a fool if you let her go now.”

And then he released me and turned and left, leaving me alone.

I slowly looked down at the ground.

I kept thinking about what Thor had said, his ludicrous allegation that I was in love with her. I was able to admit to myself that I did care deeply for Stjarna, but I did not love her. I could not allow myself to feel anything more because I knew it was useless. And yet the thought of losing her completely frightened me.

I swallowed hard and closed my eyes.

It was beyond difficult for me to even imagine admitting to myself that I felt more for Stjarna than simply desire or affection, but I could not deny how happy she made me. Thor had been correct in that aspect. But happiness did not equate to love, did it? Thor gave too easily, he loved too easily. Not like me. And yet…

I opened my eyes and looked up.

But it did not ultimately matter, did it? I knew that whether or not I was in love with her, I could not bear to lose her. No matter what I had done, I could not lose her.

I turned around and left the tent, stepping out into the bright sunlight. I did not see Thor, but it was not him I was going to speak to. I would go and see Stjarna whether or not she wished to see me. I had to see her now.

I headed back up towards the palace, feeling determined. I would speak with her and I would fix this. I knew not how, but I would make her understand that I was sorry for what I had done. I did not expect it to be easy and I knew it might take time, but I felt confidence now that we could get past this. After all, had we not overcome something like this so long ago? If Stjarna truly loved me, she would forgive me.

But when at last I stood in front of Stjarna’s door, it was as if all of my resolve drained away. No longer was it confidence I felt, but this terrible trepidation. She was in there, I knew, and now I almost dreaded to see her.

I raised my hand to knock, but as soon as I did, I thought that she would not open the door for me. It would be the same as it had been last night, but I needed to see her now. I lowered my hand, turned the handle, and quietly opened the door.

Stjarna was sitting in one of the chairs before her small fireplace. Her back was to me and I did not see her move at all when I stepped into her chambers and shut the door quietly behind me.

I swallowed.

“Stjarna?”

__

Stjarnavetr

I was sitting before my fireplace, lost in these miserable contemplations, when I heard him knock on my door. I thought that if he had any decency left, he would leave me be. It was the least he could do after everything.

But of course he did not leave me be.

I did not move when I heard him open my door and shut it behind him, did not bother to turn my head to look when I heard him say my name. I bit my lip, feeling the tears coming on again at merely the sound of his voice, not angry like the day before. Not hateful and condescending, but soft and pleading.

I closed my eyes and reminded myself that he was such a talented liar.

I thought back to the night before when I had been lying in my bed. I had only been able to sleep for an hour or so, for Loki had pervaded even my dreams. I had been drifting in and out of sleep when I had heard him at my door. He had apologized to me and pleaded to see me, but I had remained silent and unmoving, not fooled or moved by his words in the slightest. He was only lying to me again as he was wont to do.

I was silent for a long moment before I swallowed to clear my throat. “Get out.”

Loki did not say anything for a long moment. Finally, “I need to speak with you, Stjarna.”

“I do not want to see you,” I responded listlessly.

But I did not hear him open the door to leave. Instead, I heard his soft footsteps coming nearer. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him walk by me, headed towards the empty chair across from me. He looked positively harried. He was only wearing his tunic and pants and boots; he must have just come from his fight. I wondered for a brief moment who he had fought and if he had won.

He did not look at me at first, but avoided my gaze. It was only when he had settled himself into the chair that he finally looked up at me.

What a sight I must have been. I had changed into my nightgown this morning, having decided I would not leave my chambers today. My eyes were undoubtedly bloodshot and cheeks still somewhat swollen from where I had been sporadically crying throughout the morning.

Loki leaned forward slightly and rested his forearms on the tops of his legs and began slowly playing with his fingers. He was looking at me, studying me. I did not like it.

And then he said quietly, “I have thought much on this, Stjarna, and I have not the words to explain myself.” I heard him swallow and then he continued, though much more reluctantly now. “I did lie with Freyja and I… I have since taken other women to my bed.”

I tore my eyes away from his and looked off to the side. I could not even bear to look at him. Hearing it all over again only served to drive me even deeper into this despair.

Admittedly, though, I had dared to wonder how many women he had taken while we had been together, but I did not think I could truly ask and stand to receive an answer. I had tortured myself enough with these thoughts of him lying with all of these other women, of him kissing and touching them as he did me.

But I had been curious about one thing and though I knew I shouldn’t have asked, I did. For some reason, I wanted to know.

“When was the last one?” I inquired faintly.

Loki looked at me, almost uncomprehendingly. “What?”

“When… when was the last one?”

And then I saw the hesitance on his face. He did not want to tell me. “Stjarna…”

I tried to keep my voice impassive, though it was hard. “Are you going to lie to me again, Loki?”

He slowly looked down at the floor without moving his head. After a long moment, he said softly, “The day before yesterday.”

Immediately, a hot flush spread through my body and my lips parted in surprise. I stared at him, unable to tear my eyes away from his downcast expression.

He had lain with another woman only two days ago? That had been the night he had told me not to come to him, the night after I had told him I loved him. While I had been lying in my bed berating myself and drowning in unhappiness for his rejection, he had been fucking another woman.

“Is there something wrong with me?” I asked suddenly, attempting to keep the tears out of my voice.

He tentatively looked back up at me. “What?”

“Is there something wrong with me?” I reiterated softly.

Loki furrowed his brows slightly. “No. No, Stjarna. There is nothing wrong with you—”

“Then why—why did you lie with them? What do they have that I do not?” I implored, feeling on the verge of tears.

Loki looked to be at a loss. And then, quietly, “Nothing, Stjarna. You are… you are perfect.”

I would have laughed at the ridiculousness of it all, but felt as if I could barely speak. I closed my eyes and felt the tears that had been threatening to spill over roll down my cheeks. How dare he say something like that to me after all of this? How dare he presume to think me so stupid? Perhaps I had been, but no longer.

“Then why did you do this?” I asked tremulously, trying to harden my voice and ignore his previous and most ignorant statement. “Why did you do this to me?”

To be honest, I almost feared his response. It was the question that had been tormenting me ever since his infidelity had come to light. Why had he betrayed me like this? Was there something wrong with me? Why had I not been enough?

But Loki only stared at me, as if searching for the right words to say. And then he faltered, looking at me as if begging me to understand, “I… I know not.”

I stared at him, tears of frustration brimming in my eyes. How could he not know?

“How could you do this to me?” I wondered sadly. “What have I done?”

“Stjarna, you have done nothing—”

But before he could delve into whatever nonsense I am sure he had planned to say, I said mournfully, “Was I not enough for you? Am I not enough?”

And he only looked at me. He had no answer for me. But then again, I knew there was none. If I had been enough for him, he would not have lain with all those other women. He would not have betrayed me.

I murmured, looking away, “I suppose... it is also my fault.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Loki furrow his brows in confusion. “Your fault?”

“It was foolish of me to have ever assumed that I was anything more than your whore.”

Loki stiffened in the chair. “No, Stjarna—”

“Is that all I ever was to you?” I demanded tearfully, cutting him off. “Just your whore?”

“No,” he repeated firmly. “No. I was... I was angry, Stjarna. I did not think on what I was saying.”

I stared unbelievingly at him. Surely some part of him thought of me as nothing more than a whore or he would not have said it. Slowly I looked back over at the fire. I did not bother to tell him I did not believe him. I could not believe anything else he said to me. How could I after everything he had done to me?

“You have never been that to me,” he avowed, trying to capture my gaze. It was as if he was attempting to further convince me; he must have noticed how incredulous I appeared.

And then suddenly the tears came again and I could not hold them back. They blurred my vision and began rolling down my face again and I cried softly. “I should not have said it,” I despaired. “I realize that now. I should not have presumed to bear myself to you in such a way. It was my own stupidity. I should have known, I should have known…”

Loki looked miserable. “Known what?”

“That I—that I would never play any part in your life but that of your…” I could not even bear to finish. Now I buried my face in my hands, trying to stifle the sobs I could feel welling up in my throat. I hated crying in front of him. I hated that he had done this to me and I did not want him to see, but I could not help it.

I was unable to keep my voice from breaking. “I trusted you, Loki. I trusted you…”

And therein had lain the fault: my stupidity in trusting him. I had always known how he was, knew there was nothing for me with him. There was no future, certainly, but only these few wonderful years we might have together. And still, I had so ignorantly dared to want more.

Suddenly, I stood up out of the chair and turned away from him. I could not sit there anymore, weeping like that in front of him. I wiped my eyes and endeavored to swallow my tears. I walked over to my table, for it was the first thing I saw, and stood next to it and ran my fingertips along the design etched into the wood. Anything to look at to keep myself from crying.

But despite how precariously I was to the edge of sobbing, I said miserably, knowing he was listening, “I gave myself to you, Loki. But you can’t understand that, can you? I gave myself to you and now it means nothing. But it always meant nothing, didn’t it? If it had, you wouldn’t have—”

“No,” he interrupted. I heard him get up out of the chair. “That is not true. It does not mean nothing.”

“How can it not?” I cried, feeling a sudden surge of anger. I turned on him and saw that he had come closer to me, but stopped when I turned around. “How can it not mean nothing to you?”

Loki took another cautious step towards me, but I stared heatedly at him, tears rolling down my face.

Oh, but he was lying again. I knew it did not mean anything to him. He had played me, made me believe all this time that if he did not love me, at least he cared for me. He had strung me along, just his loyal, pathetic little mistress. But that is all I had ever been. In Vanaheim, I had been at Valdrlund’s beck and call, subservient to his every whim. While Loki had not treated me like Valdrlund, in the sense that he had never struck me or in general been cruel to me, he still had essentially seen me as the same. Just a mistress. Just a whore. Just a body.

Had I no worth to him? Had my only task been but to bring him pleasure? And even now, it was still so difficult to believe. All those years, all those laughs and smiles and tender moments—but it was true. His actions confirmed my fears. No matter how he had been to me on the outside, he still had lain with those other women. He had told me himself that my standing was little better than that of a whore. His attempted alleviation of my grief did not matter.

I thought now with disgust all of the times I had hung on him, all of the times I had so easily fallen into his arms, into his bed, so willingly and so trustingly—so ignorantly—thinking he cared. But how could he have cared for me and done this? Betrayed me like this and reduced me to naught but a whore? Was that the extent of my worth? Was that all I would ever be?

And now Loki came here trying to salvage all of it, but I wondered what had he hoped to accomplish? Did he truly think I would forgive him for everything he had done to me?

Loki looked absolutely wretched and his voice was beseeching. “Stjarna, I do not want this to be the end of it. I do not want this to be the end of us.”

I continued looking at him, feeling ill. I had not even thought of it like that, but it was true. This could very well have been the end for us. And yet I knew I could not bear to go through it all again. If I forgave him, if I let him have me again, I would be just what I had been before. Just his lowly, pathetic little whore. He would lie to me again and he would take other women to his bed just as he always had done. And it amazed me because even after all of this, he still expected me to forgive him and come crawling back to his bed.

But I would not.

I knew then in my heart that this was indeed the end.

And still he stood there, only gazing at me in what looked like sorrow. He had already lied to me, though, already betrayed me. What else could he have possibly wanted from me? I had hardly anything left to give and there certainly was no forgiveness to be found.

“I have never...” he stopped and looked down and paused. And then he looked back up at me and professed quietly, “I have never felt for anybody as I feel for you.”

I scoffed and turned away from him. I could not even look at him. How dare he lie to me like this—still!—to coerce me into coming back to him. Loki had always been so adept at getting what he wanted. I had always known that he lied, but I had been so blinded by him that I never seriously thought he would have reason to lie to me. But everything that had ever come out of his mouth was a lie and now it hurt me that he would stoop so low as to say something like that to me after I had told him I loved him, after everything he had done to me.

“Stjarna,” he begged, sounding desperate. It was almost odd to hear him speak like that. Hardly ever had I heard him sound so beseeching. “Please, let me make this up to you.”

Now I laughed, though my laugh was choked with tears. “Make it up to me? And how would you do that, Loki?”

He was quiet. He did not know what to say because he knew there was no way he could make this up to me. There was nothing he could do to fix this and I think we both knew it, but I was so tired and I did not know what to say anymore and the tears were coming on again. I fought them as best I could, for I did not want to cry anymore and definitely not in front of him. I would not give that to him again. I turned to the side, not wishing to see him.

But then I heard his faint footsteps behind me, coming closer. I flinched when I felt the gentle brush of his fingers on my arm and my first instinct was to jerk away, but I managed to hold still as he tenderly ran his hand down my arm. It was as if his touch, in that moment, melted away all of my anger and for some reason I did not pull away as he took my hand in his and almost lovingly twined our fingers together.

I suppose some small part of me knew this was the end and I wanted to feel him like this one last time, even if he was only holding my hand. I wanted to feel once more as if he truly did care for me, even if he did not, because I knew I was still in love with him and I hated myself for it. Gods, how I hated him for what he had done, but I could not deny this treacherous warmth in my chest. Not anger, but this sorrow and this useless longing. Perhaps just once more we could touch like this, just once more to feel like this…

I closed my eyes, feeling the tears already beginning in my eyes again, and turned my head towards his. I could feel his warm breath on the back of my shoulder, feel the gentle and tender press of his lips to my skin.

And then he murmured against me, “Stjarna, I want none but you.”

I stood still, my heart aching for how it had come to this.

My voice was barely above a whisper. “You had me. You had all of me, Loki.”

He let out a small breath and kissed my shoulder again. “I know,” he breathed.

And then even as I felt his other arm moving to wrap around my middle from behind so he could hold me, I felt anger. It came on so quickly, overwhelming my previous feelings of grief.

He knew? Gods, he knew nothing. He still did not realize how much of myself I had given to him. He did not realize and he did not understand. He never had and he never would. It was just something he was not capable of doing.

I stiffened in his arms and said coldly, “No, Loki. You don’t know.”

With that, I pulled away from him and quickly disengaged our fingers. I felt how he tried to hold onto my hand, saw him reach for me again, but now I thought of how many women he had touched before me and after me. I no longer wanted him touching me with those fingers, with those hands that had touched and held so many other women. Those hands that I had once so affectionately held in my own, those fingers that I had many times so lovingly kissed. Those lips…

I turned around to face him and he looked down at me, stricken.

“Stjarna—”

“You will never touch me again,” I said unwaveringly, somehow managing to keep my voice steady. “You will never have any part of me again.”

Loki’s lips slightly parted in surprise. He gave a little shake of his head and looked at me almost in shock. He opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. 

“I want you to leave.”

“Stjarna,” he pleaded, I think realizing that things were not going the way he had planned, “you must believe that I am sorry—”

“No!” I shouted, taking a step towards him. “I care not, I will not forgive you. I—I want you to leave. Now.”

I stepped aside, as if inviting him to get a move on, but he only stood there, looking despondently at me. When still he did not move, I repeated myself. “Get out, Loki.”

Loki stared at me, but I did not look away. I held his sorrowful gaze, tried to hold onto this anger as best I could. He did not say anything for a long time and I was about to tell him to leave again, but then to my immense relief he slowly went past me and towards the door. He opened it, but turned around before leaving.

His voice was quiet. “I will make this up to you somehow, Stjarna. I promise you.”

I gave a little shake of my head. “No, do not bother.”

“Stjarna,” he breathed. He almost looked frantic now. “I can fix this, I can make this up to you—”

“No, Loki,” I said miserably. “I just want you to leave me alone. I just want you to leave… and I don’t want you to come back. It is over.”


	39. Part I - Chapter 39

Stjarnavetr

Everything changed.

No longer did I go to Loki’s chambers. At night I would return to my own rooms and lie alone in my bed. In the beginning it was difficult. I would cry to myself at night and think of him. Even though he had done this to me, I missed him. I could not help it. I could not help but to remember how we had been before, how happy I had been.

But as the days and eventually the weeks passed, I did not cry as much, though my sorrow was not alleviated. I think I simply grew too tired—too weary—to cry anymore.

But other things had changed as well.

Just a few days after the end of the tournament, which incidentally Thor had won, the queen had called me to her early one morning. She had explained to me that my seidr lessons with Loki were to cease immediately. The Allfather, she said, had been incredibly displeased to learn that Loki was still being taught magic, for he had long ago forbidden it.

I had asked her if the Allfather was angry with me, for how could he not know it was me teaching Loki, but she had said no. She had spoken to him and it was decided that I would remain in her retinue as a handmaiden.

The queen had said that though she expected this, it was still unfortunate.

I, however, was relieved. I was not sad that this had happened. I had been dreading the prospect of continuing the lessons anyway. After everything, I did not think I could bear to see Loki so often every week and to work with him as intimately as we had done before.

But though I was thankful the lessons had ended, I felt some sense of grief. I tried my best to tamp down these traitorous feelings and would remind myself of what he had done to me. When I did that, the idea of us being over was a little more bearable.

Now there was no reason for us to speak to one another ever again.

But that did not stop Loki.

He still tried to appease me and I wondered why he was so vehemently trying to fix this, but I knew Loki liked everything just so. This falling out of ours had upset his life and he wanted everything back to how it was. He wanted me in his bed, wanted me once again playing the part of his whore, but my unwillingness to do so threatened that.

But it was no matter, I tried to tell myself. I had not been the only one before, so why now should my absence from his bed affect him?

And yet still he tried.

Even after I had told him never to come to me again, he did. The very next day when I had opened my door to go to the queen’s chambers, Loki was pacing outside in the corridor. He had begged me to listen to him and attempted to apologize to me again, told me how much I meant to him and how he could not bear to lose me. When I had grown upset, he asked me why could I not forgive him? If I truly loved him, why could I not forgive him? Why could we not move past this as we had nearly a decade ago? It made me angry when he said that, but it also had hurt me.

Did he think just because I had told him I loved him I could so easily forgive him? I did not think Loki understood love. But then again, did I? I had never known it before, but had been so ignorant as to give in to the feeling.

But now I just wanted everything over as quickly as possible. When Loki came to me or tried to see me, I said the same thing over and over. I did not want to see him or hear him. We were over. And eventually he stopped coming to me. I thought, or at least hoped, that he had finally realized that he had lost me for good and had given up. It was odd, though, for when Loki stopped trying to see me, I felt some sense of sorrow. But it was for the best, I reasoned, and so I must try to move past it.

Though this entire thing had made me feel demeaned and worthless, I came out of it thinking that never again would I stoop so low. It seemed that at one time Loki had been everything to me, despite knowing what would eventually become of us, but I had so stupidly let myself go, had let myself forget that it was too dangerous to feel anything but physical pleasure with him. On the outside he had been so good to me and I suppose after being with Valdrlund for so long, Loki seemed a blessing of some sort. I had never known affection like that, never known such happiness from merely being with another and I had let myself get swept away. But look where it had gotten me; I would say I had learned a lesson well enough.

And yet I still missed him. Despite everything he had done to me, despite everything he had put me through, I still thought of him.

Sometimes during dinner, I would carelessly let my eyes wander up towards the high table. I would look at him, not letting my eyes linger for too long, and remember the things we had done together, though I knew not why I tormented myself with these useless memories.

I would remember when Loki took me out into the countryside or down into the city. I would recall past conversations we had or a particular time he had made me laugh so hard I could not breathe, or when I had done the same to him. When we would lie on his bed and he would just hold me and we would talk of nothing and everything.

And then I would grow melancholy and the others would notice. Gullhár more than once commented to me how I did not speak as much, nor did I smile as often. As the weeks passed, it became increasingly obvious that Loki and I were no longer together. I was never late to the queen’s chambers as I had been with our seidr lessons and I stopped mentioning him to the others, if I had done so at all before.

But Loki had done this to me. At first, I had questioned myself. I had wondered if it was my fault that he had strayed from me, wondered if there was something wrong with me or if I had not been enough, but I had come to realize that this was all his fault. He had chosen to betray me like that.

Once I was able to admit to myself that this was Loki’s fault, it was not so much sorrow that I felt, but anger. I became angry all over again with him for what he had done to us, but I had nobody to talk to, for I did not wish to speak of this with even Gullhár, and so I only ever managed to drive myself deeper and deeper into this constant state of angry sorrow.

I hated myself for not being able to move past it all as I so desperately wished to and I hated him, but I simply could not stop feeling like this. I hated that he had ingrained himself so deeply in my mind and my life, so painfully deep in my heart, that I could do nothing without thinking of him. I just wanted it to stop hurting.

But I was able to console myself with that fact that I only had to endure. I knew that eventually this pain would wear away to only a hollow ache. I knew that eventually I would stop thinking of him, knew that eventually I would stop hating him. And so I eagerly awaited the day when I would feel nothing at all.

__

It was just over three months since the tournament.

Loki had not sought me out in nearly a month, which I was appreciative of. I was hopeful that he had at last given up, though the thought of that oddly saddened me. But it was for the best, so I tried not to think much of it.

One night, I had accompanied the queen to retire and afterwards was walking back with some of the other handmaidens as we returned to our rooms. I walked with Gullhár, who spoke to me of one of the guards who had just recently caught her fancy.

When we turned the corner onto the corridor that held all of our rooms, a cold feeling suddenly spread through me. Down the corridor, I could see Loki’s shadowy form by my door and leaning against the wall. He was waiting for me.

Gullhár glanced at me questioningly. She knew, as did most of the other handmaidens, that Loki and I were no longer together. It was not as if I had formally announced it after it had happened, but Málvit had inquired as to why I had been so despondent a few days after and I had decided to tell her and some of the others had heard and it had simply become known, inevitable though it was.

Gullhár squeezed my hand comfortingly as she stopped to enter her own room and I went on. Loki straightened as I walked up to him.

“What do you want?” I demanded quietly. Some of the other women looked at us as they passed, but Loki did not seem to notice them at all. He kept his eyes on me.

“I would speak with you, Stjarna.”

Now I was wary. “What is it?”

“No, not here. I want you to come to my chambers tomorrow morning.”

“What?” I said indignantly. “I will not—”

But Loki cut me off and said firmly, “I am not asking you, Stjarna. I am telling you.”

I stared at him in surprise. It was almost shocking to hear him speak to me like that, for ever since our falling out he had spoken to me with nothing but what sounded like sorrow or regret.

I angrily looked down at the stone floor, but did not say anything. I only gave a little nod. No matter how I felt, or how much I did not want to, he was still the prince and I could not very well simply tell him no. He had ordered me. He knew otherwise I would not have come.

Loki stood there for a moment longer before silently brushing past me.

I slowly went into my chambers and leaned back against the door, feeling conflicted. The last time I had been in his chambers, we had lain together and I had told him I loved him. That had been the beginning of the end for us.

I had not given much thought as to whether I still loved him. I had tried not to think of it, because when I did think of him, I felt this sorrow and this longing in my chest. I kept telling myself I hated him for what he had done to me and I had been able to convince myself that I did indeed hate him, but there was still something else there that I simply could not let go of, no matter how hard I tried.

But it ultimately did not matter. I only had to try to get through whatever nonsense Loki surely had planned for tomorrow. Soon it would be over.

__

Early the next morning, I made my way grudgingly towards Loki’s chambers. When I reached them, I did not even bother to knock; I opened his door without thinking and slipped inside as I always had done when we had been together. It was only when I had shut the door behind me that I realized what I had done.

Luckily, I did not immediately see Loki. I assumed he was somewhere in the other room, probably in his bath chamber, readying himself for the day since I had come a little early. I quickly took a seat at his table and waited in silence. As I sat there, I allowed my eyes to rove aimlessly about.

I saw some of his clothing lying in a rumpled heap on the floor and felt a burst of irritation. I remembered all of the times I had told him not to do that, but then quickly chided myself. It was not as if it mattered anymore to me what he did with his dirty clothes.

Eventually—inevitably—my eyes came to settle on his bed. I could see part of it through the open doorway of his bedchamber and I stared at it. After a long moment I slowly looked back down at my fingers in my lap.

Sometimes it was hard not to remember the things we had done. Every so often when I lay in my bed at night, I could not help but to let my fingers drift between my legs, could not help but to close my eyes and imagine us again. And when afterwards I would open my eyes, I would remember that everything was lost and I would begin softly crying, wondering how he could have done this.

Now I turned my head and gazed at the tabletop next to me. I thought of how many times he had taken me on it, how afterwards when we were both spent and panting into each other’s skin, he would always lean forward and kiss me and stroke my cheeks and tell me how beautiful and how wonderful I was. How tightly I would hold onto him, stupidly believing everything he told me, believing that I meant absolutely anything to him at all.

I focused on the floor now. There were too many memories in here. I did not like it, for I could not stop myself remembering.

And then suddenly—mercifully—I was jolted out of my unhappy recollections when Loki strode out of his bedchamber. He stopped when he saw me. He was clad only in a pair of black pants, though he held a tunic in his hand. His hair was still damp. He must have just finished bathing and was dressing.

I saw what almost looked like a flicker of surprise cross his face, but he quickly composed himself and pulled his tunic on. 

He remarked offhandedly, “I did not actually expect you to come.”

“I came as you ordered. Your Highness.”

I heard him make a small sound of exasperation, but otherwise he did not reply.

And so I said, “What do you want?”

“I wanted to see you, Stjarna.”

Now he walked over to where I was sitting, pulled out the chair next to me, and sat down. I leaned back, not liking how close he was. He noticed my discomfort and leaned away slightly, looking somewhat pained at my rejection at merely his proximity.

“You saw me last night,” I stated guardedly. “Could you not have told me whatever it is then?”

“No. I did not wish to discuss it in front of the other women.”

I looked at him suspiciously. “Discuss what?”

I prayed he was not going to ask me to take him back. I was so tired of it. In fact, I hated being here. I hated being alone with him and hated talking to him, but I managed to hold it all back.

“Valdrlund,” he answered. 

My lips parted in surprise. That had certainly been the last thing I had expected him to say.

“He is coming here soon. Within the next month or so. Father will soon announce his arrival.”

I remained quiet, only looking at him, but my insides were gripped by this icy fear. I had not thought much of Valdrlund these past three months, what with this drama between Loki and myself. I had almost forgotten he was coming here.

“Why are you telling me this?” I murmured.

“I am worried for you,” he replied, sounding sincere.

But I only I stared at him in disbelief; it was almost laughable. I said disdainfully, “Why do you care?”

He furrowed his brows and looked at me as if I was stupid.

“Why do I care?” he exclaimed, his voice tinged with what sounded like annoyance. “Because I remember what he did to you! You’ll forgive me, Stjarna, if I do not trust him. And did I not tell you I would not leave you alone if he came here?”

I looked at him for a long moment, not knowing what to say. But when I finally found the words, I kept my voice steady and unfeeling. “You’ve told me many things, Loki. None of which were true.”

Loki closed his eyes in exasperation. “Stjarna, can you not see that I am trying to—”

“No!” I shouted, cutting him off and rising quickly to my feet. Loki opened his eyes and looked up at me in surprise. “Can you not see that I do not want you? I don’t want you anymore, Loki!”

“Stjarna, this is not me trying to make up for—”

“I don’t care!” I cried. Now my voice shook. “I don’t… I don’t love you anymore. I just want you to leave me alone.”

Loki looked taken aback for only a brief moment at my lie before he quickly collected himself and stood up, as well. We were much too close for comfort, but I did not want to act as if I was afraid of or intimidated by him.

He said, keeping his voice soft, “I am only concerned for you—”

“I do not want your concern!” I angrily retorted, holding his gaze. “I do not want you! I hate you!”

And then there was silence.

We only stared at one another.

Admittedly, I was surprised at what had just come out of my mouth. Though I had tried to convince myself these past months that I did indeed hate him, I still could not believe I had just said it. But in that moment, I meant it.

Loki had hurt me like never before. Even when Valdrlund had taken other women to his bed, when he had struck me or took me when I did not want it, it had never felt as it did in that moment when I had realized that Freyja’s words held truth, that moment when Loki had looked into my eyes and reduced me to nothing but a body that warmed his bed. Never before in my life, even after everything I had endured in Vanaheim, had I felt so insignificant, so ashamed, so worthless and unwanted and unloved. Never had I felt so lessened, and by him who I had trusted more than anyone else.

And now he stared down at me, lips parted in surprise. I could see the shock on his face, that subtle hurt beneath. But was Loki even truly capable of feeling hurt?

I swallowed the tears rising in my throat and repeated, my voice much softer, but no less pointed, “I hate you, Loki.”

When he still did not say anything and only stared at me, I turned away from him, hating that look on his face. I hated how it made me feel, hated this treacherous ache in my chest. I immediately headed towards his door, for I did not want to be in here with him anymore. I should not have come at all.

But as soon as I opened his door, Loki said quietly from across the room, “Stjarna?”

I do not know why, but I stopped suddenly. I stood there in this dread silence, staring out into the corridor and waiting for him to speak.

And then from behind me, “I am sorry.”

I could feel the tears blurring my vision now, but did not turn around. Instead, I stepped out into the corridor and closed the door behind me, shutting those empty and useless words into the room with him.

__

Less than a week later, I was sitting with the other handmaidens at dinner. I was only listening to the others talk. I did not partake much in the conversation anymore. None of it seemed to interest me.

Loki had not come to me since our conversation in his chambers. He had not tried to see me or speak to me, which I suppose I was grateful for. It was what I wanted, was it not? But ever since our discussion, I had been even unhappier.

I had been pushing the food disinterestedly around on my plate for a while when suddenly I heard the conversation around me die away. I saw many gazes focused on the high table and I glanced up and saw that the Allfather was standing and looking around. He was waiting for everybody to fall silent.

When he began speaking, his voice seemed to echo throughout the hall.

“My friends. I have an announcement this night. As you all know, our good ally, Vanaheim, has recently lost its most illustrious king, Aldregimildr. His wise and capable son has since risen to take his place and I am pleased to announce that Valdrlund, king of Vanaheim, will soon grace us with his presence. There will be much celebration, for our realms’ treaties shall be renewed and hopefully the fruitful relationship between our realms shall continue to blossom and grow.”

There was cheering then, but I remained silent. I knew for a fact from what I had seen with my own eyes in Vanaheim, and from what Loki had told me of the inner goings-on of Asgardian diplomacy, that Asgard and Vanaheim were not such good allies and the relationship between the two realms was shaky at best. But of course an uneasy peace was preferable to another bloody and senseless war. Loki had also told me long ago that the Allfather would treat Valdrlund with the utmost respect if he ever came here, as he wished to maintain and make stronger the alliance between the two realms.

As the Allfather continued speaking, my eyes drifted over and landed on Loki, whose gaze was downcast. I watched him for a long time, remembering how he had told me he was concerned for me, how he had promised not to leave me alone if Valdrlund ever came here. And then I remembered how I had told him that I hated him.

Slowly I looked back down at my plate.

And yet in that moment, it was not for him that I felt hatred, but myself.

__

Valdrlund was slated to come to Asgard a few weeks later.

His entry into Asgard would be widely celebrated, for another foreign king had not visited in nearly three centuries, I was told.

Before his arrival, both the city and palace were essentially scoured. Even though Asgard and Vanaheim were not the best of friends, it was still imperative that each of them try to impress and outdo the other in whatever way they could. Streets were cleaned and the palace was seemingly made new. We did not attend much to the queen in the days preceding Valdrlund’s arrival, for she was busy overseeing the cleaning of the palace and other celebratory duties.

There would be a magnificent banquet held to celebrate Valdrlund’s new time as king, as well as the renewal of the Aesir-Vanir treaty. The handmaidens were thrilled about his coming, for it was more exciting than our everyday life, but I dreaded it. They spoke to me of him and asked me many questions about the Vanir and our customs. They wanted to know about Valdrlund, for they knew I had been his mistress in Vanaheim. It had been no secret, after all, when I had first come to Asgard after my exile. Though I told them about Vanaheim and the ways of its people, I refused to discuss Valdrlund. In fact, hearing his name spoken over and over sometimes made me feel ill.

Gullhár knew how I felt about him, though she did not know why. Loki was the only one I had ever told, other than Eir and the queen, but Gullhár was a good friend to me and gathered that I was not the happiest about his arrival. My only consolation was that I would only see him in the great hall up at the high table and that he would only be here for a couple of weeks.

But when the time came and he actually arrived, it was difficult for me to comfort myself in any way.

Valdrlund’s first day in Asgard was certainly festive. Asgardians lined the streets, I was told, as he made his way up towards the palace. They wished to catch a glimpse of the Van king and study his foreign entourage. He would be given a tour of the city later on, as well as the palace. I knew he would like that, for in Vanaheim he had mentioned to me that he would once like to see Asgard and now that he was king, he could.

And all during that first day, I was incredibly tense. I had not seen Valdrlund in nearly fifteen years and I was not looking forward to seeing him again. I tried to mentally prepare myself before dinner that night, for I knew he would dine with the Allfather and the rest of them up at the high table. It was inevitable that I see him.

That night he and the Allfather entered the hall together. Everybody in the hall stood, waiting until the two kings had seated themselves. As they walked towards the high table, I could not help but to stare at Valdrlund with my breath caught in my throat.

He had not changed in the least. He still looked the exact same—still wore his hair, nearly the same color as mine, down to just below his shoulders, still had that light, close-cropped beard—but was dressed more outlandishly than usual. But the fashion of Vanaheim was different from that of Asgard. When in more formal settings, the men wore rich robes instead of leather and metal. And Aldregimildr had always been one for ostentation. Valdrlund not as much, but he was a foreign king here and was probably trying to look as important as possible.

And he certainly stood out. Valdrlund was tall—much, much taller than the Allfather. I suspected he was even taller than Thor, but Thor was standing next to his mother on the other side of the Allfather’s seat. From my angle, it was hard to tell.

It was only when the Allfather and Valdrlund seated themselves that everybody else sat.

Just once more during the night did I glance up at the high table. My eyes lingered briefly on Valdrlund—saw him smiling and laughing at something one of the others had said—before they wandered over to Loki, who sat next to Thor. I felt a jolt go through me, for Loki was looking right at me. I quickly lowered my head, feeling foolish, and kept my eyes downcast for the rest of the night.

__

A few days later, the queen was absent from her chambers and so the handmaidens dispersed to spend the day how they saw fit. Gullhár suggested that we walk around and look at the changes to the palace and Málvit and Maerrhár came with. Though Maerrhár was wed, her husband was one of the noblemen who lived at court and therefore she also still lived in the palace and served under the queen. Years ago, Haegr had wed as well, but she had been gone from the palace, for her new husband had lived down in the city. And so our little circle was as it had been when I had first come to Asgard.

We were walking aimlessly through the palace that day and the others were laughing and talking while I trailed behind, lost in quiet contemplation. We turned onto an open corridor bordering one of the larger palace courtyards and meandered along until Málvit said suddenly, “Look, it is the Van king!”

She inconspicuously pointed into the sunny courtyard and we could see Valdrlund slowly walking with another man, hands clasped behind his back. They were both dressed in the fashion of Vanaheim, so I assumed the other man might be one of Valdrlund’s advisors or another of his entourage.

Though Valdrlund had not heard Málvit’s exclamation, I wanted to tell her to be quiet and not draw attention to us. My heart began to beat faster in my nervousness, but I remained silent. Gullhár, noticing my discomfort, suggested we move along. I looked at her gratefully and subtly moved to the other side of Maerrhár, who was the tallest of us, so perhaps he might not so easily see me if he was to glance over.

As we continued walking, I kept my face turned away. I felt relief as we neared the end of the corridor, but then my blood froze when Málvit remarked, almost nonchalantly, “Oh, he is coming this way.”

I could not help it; I turned to look.

Valdrlund was indeed coming towards us, a smile playing on his lips. I saw behind him that the other Van was leaving, probably having been dismissed by Valdrlund when he had seen me.

I watched him in this dreadful anticipation, unable to tear my eyes away. Finally he stood in front of me and it was only then that I noticed the other three girls had silently bowed to him, for he was a king, but I did not bow to him. I only looked up into those bright blue eyes, seemingly powerless to look anywhere else. It was almost surreal to see him like this again, so long after all that had happened in Vanaheim.

Valdrlund did not reprimand me for not bowing. He grinned widely instead, exposing his white teeth.

“Stjarnavetr.”

Though his voice was affectionate and the day warm, a chill went through me when he said my name.

Slowly the others rose up and looked at him.

But he had eyes only for me.

“It has been a long time,” he breathed.

And still I could only wordlessly stare at him. My skin crawled at being so close to him.

Now his smile widened and he turned to Maerrhár, who was the one standing nearest to us. “You ladies do not mind if I borrow Stjarnavetr for a bit, do you?”

My throat closed up and I opened my mouth to perhaps feebly protest, but nothing came out. And then Málvit grinned foolishly and answered for Maerrhár. “No, of course not, Your Majesty.”

But Málvit did not know. Gullhár was the only one who had any inkling of my fear for Valdrlund, but she very well could not do anything. As she and the others began walking away, she looked back at me worriedly.

And then Valdrlund and I were alone.

“Come, Stjarnavetr,” he said, still smiling. “Let us walk.”

He slowly turned and gazed expectantly at me, waiting for me to accompany him.

I hesitantly went forward and began walking next to him. He led us into the courtyard and adopted a leisurely pace. I kept my eyes trained on the ground, for I did not wish to look up at him.

“Stjarnavetr.”

Now I slowly and very reluctantly lifted my head and met his eyes. He was smiling kindly at me. “How have you been, my love?”

“Well enough,” I responded quietly, feeling ill.

“That is good. You serve under Queen Frigga?”

“Yes.”

“How do you like it?”

“I like it,” I murmured, clasping my hands in front of me so they did not shake. I wondered how he could possibly speak to me like this after everything he had done to me, but I knew how he was; I suppose there was no use to wonder.

“I am glad for that,” he remarked, though it sounded as if he was talking more to himself than me.

We walked for a little while longer and nothing was said between us.

And then suddenly, Valdrlund asked, “Do you remember, Stjarnavetr, when we used to talk about when I became king?”

I gave a small nod. Valdrlund had always liked talking to me about his becoming king.

“It is not so different from how we imagined it. I have splendid banquets nearly every week. I go hunting whenever I want and there is much frivolity. I have made the court a merrier place indeed.”

I could easily envision what he spoke of. Valdrlund had never seemed the type that would take kingship seriously. Instead of safeguarding his people and maintaining the kingdom, Valdrlund would rather drown himself in wine and spend himself on women.

As we walked, we passed a stone bench situated in the dappled shade of a large tree. Valdrlund suggested we sit. He sat down and spread his legs wide, just like Loki did when he sat, and draped his arms over the back of the bench. I slowly sat down next to him, but not so close that he could touch me.

“I like the court here, too,” he continued, seemingly oblivious to my discomfort. “Odin Allfather has been very kind to me. I do not know why he and Father did not get along.” Now he laughed. “But you remember Father, Stjarnavetr. He was not the most affable person.”

I lowered my eyes and began to anxiously play with my fingers.

And then Valdrlund said, “I met the queen and her two sons. Prince Thor and that black-haired one. Prince Loki.”

I kept my eyes trained on the ground, but could feel my heart speed up and a hot flush spread through my body. I could feel myself beginning to sweat and it was not just because the day was warm.

“I do like Prince Thor. We share many of the same interests. He said last night that I may observe one of the Asgardian training sessions and even suggested a friendly spar, as well as participate in a hunt later during my stay. I think I would like to.” And then he paused before stating, almost casually, “But I do not like his brother.”

I remained still, dreading his next words.

“Do you like him, Stjarnavetr?”

Now I slowly looked over at him, almost in surprise. He was looking sideways at me, a knowing smile on his lips. My heart skipped a beat.

“I… no.”

“Hmm,” he said, turning to face straight ahead. “You know, Stjarnavetr, that we hear many things back home. The diplomats bring much news from the other realms. Gossip of all sorts.”

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Can you imagine what I heard one day? A long time ago?”

When I remained silent, Valdrlund tilted his head towards me. He was no longer smiling.

“I heard that my Stjarnavetr had gone to warming the Asgardian prince’s bed.”

It felt as if my insides had turned to water. I looked back down at the ground, but could feel him staring at me.

I murmured, “I am… I am not with the prince.”

“Oh?”

Valdrlund laughed and my entire body felt cold. I knew that laugh. I knew every tone of his voice, every look and every twitch. He did not believe me. He thought I was lying to him.

“Have my emissaries lied to me, then?” he inquired.

I managed to reiterate weakly, “I am not with him.”

I felt as if I was back in Vanaheim and Valdrlund was questioning me about something. There had been a few times when he had suspected me of infidelity, when perhaps another man had looked at me for too long and Valdrlund had taken it wrongly.

He had always been able to turn it on me. If I had not done this, if I had not done that, this would not have happened. He twisted my words, twisted my actions, blamed me for acting wantonly or carelessly, for drawing too much attention to myself even though I knew, as did all, that I belonged to him and only him. It was not as if another man would have dared to touch me, but Valdrlund had never seen it like that, and after he had screamed at me, after he had hurt me, he would enfold me in his arms and beg my forgiveness, but gently chide me and tell me that I must not do this again, how terrible it made him feel to have to do this to me. I only must try harder not to upset him, he said, and then it would be as if it never happened. He would be so loving to me, as if it would not inevitably happen again.

Those confrontations had never ended well for me and now I felt this terrible apprehension. But Valdrlund would not grab me or hit me in the middle of the palace in the middle of the day, would he? I did not belong to him anymore, but I would not put it past him. I knew he was obscenely jealous and even more possessive.

Valdrlund shifted on the bench next to me and leaned down, putting his face close to mine. I was too afraid to even peek at him, so I did not move. His voice was low and dangerous and sent chills through me. “But you shared his bed?”

I did not reply immediately for fear of his reaction. But finally I whispered, so softly even I could barely hear myself, “Yes.”

I flinched when he sharply exhaled and leaned back against the bench.

“How could you do that to me, Stjarnavetr?” he demanded. “How could you betray me like that?”

I kept my eyes focused away from him and though my heart was pounding in my chest, I dared to oppose him. “I am not your mistress anymore, Valdrlund.”

He scoffed and I nervously allowed myself to glance at him. He was looking away from me, jaw tight and body tense. And then he said, keeping his voice eerily calm, “I thought of you often, Stjarnavetr. Every day I thought of you. And you gave yourself to him.”

I turned away again. He was trying to turn this on me.

He did not say anything for a long time and neither did I. I so badly wished to leave and return to my own chambers to cry or vomit or do anything but sit here with him, but I felt as if I could not move. I was frozen to that spot, my body tight with fear.

And then when Valdrlund suddenly stood up, I flinched again. I quickly rose, though. No longer did he look upset.

“Odin Allfather is hosting a banquet tomorrow night in my honor, Stjarnavetr. Is that when I shall see you next?”

I stared at him in dread.

“You will be there, will you not?” he inquired before I could speak, raising his eyebrows.

I swallowed and answered quietly, “Yes.”

He smiled at me now. If I had ever thought that Loki’s ever-changing moods were odd, Valdrlund’s were terrifying. They were much more sudden, much more dramatic and even more dangerous.

“I think I might like to dance with you,” he mused, looking up and away. “We have not danced in so long.”

I felt despair. I knew Valdrlund did not like dancing; we had hardly ever danced in Vanaheim. I suspected as to what he was doing, but it was too horrible to even seriously consider.

I looked down at the ground and then back up at him. “I…”

He smiled at me and raised his eyebrows, as if encouraging me.

My eyes slowly fell down to his chest where they came to rest on one of the gold clasps on his outfit.

“Yes,” I said softly, for what else could I say? Even if I had said no, he would have insisted on it or gotten angry at me. I obviously did not wish to dance with him, but it was not as if I could simply spurn him. Despite all that he was and all that he had done to me, he was still a king.

“Wonderful!” he grinned. “I look forward to it, love.”

I only nodded.

And then he lifted his arm and curled his long fingers under my chin. My entire body stiffened when he touched me and it was as if my heart stopped. He gently lifted my head and I closed my eyes—I did not want to see—as he leaned down and pressed his lips to my cheek. The scrape of his stubble on my skin caused me to involuntarily shiver and he chuckled lightly as he pulled back.

I slowly opened my eyes and stared wide-eyed up at him.

“It is good to see you again, Stjarnavetr. You are just as beautiful as when last I saw you.”

He looked at me for only another moment before turning away from me and walking off. I watched, seemingly unable to breathe, as he exited the courtyard and disappeared around one of the corners. As soon as he was out of sight, I let out a heavy breath and dropped backwards onto the bench. I bent over and put my face in my hands and tried to control my heavy and erratic breathing.

He wanted to see me again, he wanted to dance with me at his banquet. We would have to touch. The thought of that nearly sent me over the edge.

I thought I had been done with him, I thought it was all past. I thought I had left it all behind in Vanaheim, but he had come here and brought it all back. Now my eyes began to burn with tears and I angrily wiped them away, trying my hardest not to burst into sobs. That night was coming back to me and I could almost once again hear his whispered words in my ear, could almost taste the blood in my mouth, and my body started to tremble.

I would have tried to stand to return to my chambers, but my legs felt weak and I feared I might fall down. So I sat there for a long time in the shade, trying to calm myself. I kept telling myself over and over that he would be gone soon. He would leave Asgard and everything would return to normal. I only had to endure one dance. I told myself that I was not so weak that I could not survive this—could not survive his suffocating attentions for just a little longer. I had endured him for nearly a century already. I could endure him again. I only had to wait and soon everything would go back to how it had been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a one shot that takes place in between chapters 39 and 40. You can read it here:
> 
> AO3: archiveofourown.org/works/4778876  
> Tumblr: renlem.tumblr.com/post/128877188301/stjarnavetr-one-shot-valdrlund
> 
> After you read this one shot, you may continue on to chapter 40.


	40. Part I - Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: there is both physical abuse and rape in this chapter.

Stjarnavetr

I was filled with dread all the next day.

I could think of nothing but the impending banquet that night, could think of nothing but how Valdrlund was going to dance with me. The thought of being so close to him like that again terrified me, but it was not as if I could do anything about it.

I spent the day with the other handmaidens in the queen’s chambers, but could hardly focus on anything that was said. And so the day passed by too quickly and soon it came time for the banquet.

This banquet was one of the finest I had seen since I had been in Asgard. Banners were hung in the great hall to symbolize the friendship between Asgard and Vanaheim and though the atmosphere was merry and the food rich and the wine especially sweet, I did not eat, nor did I drink. I was too nervous to do anything but stare at my plate in silence.

And yet during the meal I could not help but to occasionally glance up at the high table. I could see Valdrlund up there by the Allfather. He was laughing and talking with the others and it nearly made me sick. These years away from him had not lessened my animosity towards him. How false he was, but they all seemed to like him well enough—except for Loki. Whenever I allowed myself to glance at Loki, he was either gazing down in what looked like disgust or rolling his eyes at something Valdrlund had said.

Inevitably, the meal ended and the frivolity began. The tables were cleared and the musicians set up at the end of the hall. Many couples took to the floor to dance while others stayed off to the side to mingle. I quickly urged Gullhár off to the side and we sat down near the corner of the great hall.

I was anxious about what was to come, but had during the day attempted to fortify myself. After this, I had told myself, if Valdrlund insisted upon seeing me again, I would tell him no. I would remind him that I was no longer his mistress and that he no longer held sway over me, but I also questioned whether I would be so strong when the time actually came. It was so easy to think of it like this, but it was a different matter entirely when he was towering over me and staring down at me with those cold, angry blue eyes of his.

I had been his for so long and he had controlled me all that time and it was difficult to even think of opposing him, but we were not in Vanaheim and he did not have that power over me anymore. Besides, it was not as if he would do anything reckless in a crowded hall, I knew. He may have had a temper to rival anything else, but he would not create such a scene in front of so many others. Especially in another realm.

Valdrlund stayed up at the high table for a long time. He conversed mostly with the Allfather and I was so foolish as to hope that maybe he had forgotten about dancing with me. But my hope proved to be in vain.

After a long while, Valdrlund finally excused himself from the high table and elected to socialize with the Asgardians. Many went up to him and spoke to him and he seemed cordial enough. It disgusted me to watch him; how eloquently he spoke to them all, how amicable he seemed, but I knew the real Valdrlund. I knew the monster behind the smile.

Soon I grew tired watching Valdrlund and I let my eyes wander up towards the high table.

Loki was sitting there, eyes downcast. Where before he would have come down to the floor to dance with me, he no longer came down when there was a banquet or celebration of any sort. He would sit there in silence for hours, but I did nearly the same thing, too.

And as I watched him, I allowed myself to sadly wonder if he had been with any other women since me. I suspected that Loki would be able to move past it all much more easily than me, even though I had been the one to ultimately end us, but I supposed that he could do whatever he wanted now. Being with me had not stopped him before.

But then I was jolted out of my unhappy thoughts when Gullhár touched my arm.

“Stjarnavetr,” she said, inclining her head.

I looked over and saw Valdrlund coming towards us. People bowed to him as he passed and many watched him. When he came to stand in front of us, Gullhár immediately stood up and bowed to him, but I only sat there. I would not bow to him, but he did not seem to care.

“Think not that I forgot about our dance, love,” he laughed. “Come.”

He extended his hand for me to take and I slowly rose to my feet and tentatively slipped my hand into his. Merely touching him made me feel ill, but I swallowed my revulsion and followed him out onto the floor. I kept repeating to myself that this was it—only tonight. After this, I would be done with him.

Valdrlund had chosen to pull me onto the floor just as a new dance was beginning. I could feel many eyes on us and my cheeks burned with embarrassment. It was no secret that I had once been Valdrlund’s mistress and I am sure that many of the courtiers thought it scandalous that where before I had been Loki’s lover, I was now dancing with my old one.

The thought that others might think so lowly of me upset me, but there was nothing I could do about it. It was not as if I had a choice, anyway. Valdrlund would have found me even if I had hidden in one of the darker corners of the great hall. What he wanted he had always gotten.

Valdrlund came to a stop now and turned around with a smile. He took my hand in his and placed the other on my hip.

He said, “It has been long since I have danced with you, Stjarnavetr. What a shame it is that we did not dance more in Vanaheim.”

“Yes,” I whispered meekly. I remembered it quite well. Valdrlund had never been interested in dancing; he was always more taken up with drinking with the other men.

Right before the music began, something took a hold of me and I ventured a peek up at the high table.

Loki was staring at us and even from here I could tell that he was angry.

I swallowed and quickly looked away, chiding myself for having dared to look up there in the first place.

Valdrlund pulled me closer to him and I let out an uncomfortable breath, but did not say anything as the dance began. I stumbled the first few steps in my nervousness, but managed to gather myself and not trip. Valdrlund was not the best dancer either, but he could dance well enough despite his disregard for something so frivolous.

As we danced, Valdrlund remarked adoringly, “You’ve not changed at all, Stjarnavetr.”

I wanted to retort that he had not changed either, but I pressed my lips together.

And then there came a rise in the music and as he turned me, he said, “I cannot deny that I was rather eager to see you again, love. There was little else I could think of when preparing, for I had not seen you in so long. It felt a lifetime.”

Once again, I wanted to reply that it had not been nearly long enough, but held my tongue. Best not to make things worse. But I hated how tightly he was holding me to him, for my very flesh seemed repelled. I hated this fake intimacy—I hated him. I wanted nothing more than to shove him away, but that certainly would not be good for me.

And then finally—it had seemed an eternity—the dance ended.

I quickly disengaged our fingers and took a step back, feeling immense relief that it was over, but then Valdrlund grabbed my hand and pulled me back to him. I made a sound of surprise and he laughed at me.

“I am not done dancing with you, love. I—”

“Stjarna.”

Both Valdrlund and I turned our heads.

My lips parted in surprise to see Loki standing there. He wore a thin smile, but the smile did not reach his eyes, which were hard. I immediately felt trepidation and prayed he did not do anything foolish.

But Valdrlund only looked at Loki as if he was an annoying insect.

“Can I help you, Prince?” Valdrlund inquired dryly, cocking an eyebrow.

Loki looked at me as he spoke. “I was wondering if you would mind my interjecting?”

I stared at Loki in surprise.

“I would very much mind, actually,” Valdrlund responded, attempting to mask his impatience. He slightly turned his body to put more of himself in between Loki and I. “I have not seen my Stjarnavetr in many years. We are catching up.”

I saw how Loki subtly stiffened when Valdrlund called me his and I knew that probably pleased Valdrlund. But I also knew Loki could not do anything without incurring the wrath of both Valdrlund and his own father.

Loki looked coolly at Valdrlund and then at me. I realized then that he had been asking me, not Valdrlund.

But I did not say anything. I wished he would not have interrupted us. I knew it would only make things worse for me. Valdrlund thought Loki and I were together and this essentially confirmed it for him. I looked away from Loki, feeling sorry for both him and myself.

“There,” Valdrlund said triumphantly. “You may run along, Prince.”

I glanced briefly at Loki. I could tell he was annoyed. He gave a terse, tight-lipped little bow to Valdrlund before turning on his heel and walking away.

“Now, where were we?” Valdrlund mused, pulling me close and waiting for the next dance to begin. But even when the dance commenced, Valdrlund did not say anything for a long time. I could tell Loki’s attempted interruption had annoyed him. He did not like Loki and it was bad enough because he thought we were together.

And then Valdrlund mentioned, almost as if thinking aloud to himself, “It is not the same without you in Vanaheim, Stjarnavetr.”

But it was all he said and I did not reply.

When the dance ended, Valdrlund said, “Come, let us sit somewhere. I wish to speak to you more.”

But I pulled my hand from his and attempted to excuse myself. “I am not feeling well. I think I should retire.”

“What?” he chuckled. “You are fine. Let us go.”

But I insisted, “No, I… I do not feel well. I am sorry.”

He stared at me; he knew I was lying. I bowed to him and went to turn away, but before I could get too far, he caught my wrist. I gasped as he pulled me back to him.

“Very well, love,” he murmured, and then he took my chin between his fingers and leaned down and I froze as he lightly and lingeringly kissed my cheek. When he pulled away, he was smiling.

I stared up at him, my only thought that I hoped Loki had not seen. But of course he had seen; I knew he would be watching and I knew that Valdrlund had kissed me like that to spite Loki.

Valdrlund laughed at my expression before turning and leaving me there. There was another dance beginning and so I quickly left the floor and headed towards the nearest door.

I could breathe a little easier once I was out of the great hall. It was not as hot out here and I did not feel as suffocated. I headed towards my chambers, relieved that this night was finally over.

But as I walked, I could not shake the feeling that I was not alone. I tentatively turned around and my heart dropped when I saw Valdrlund following me. He was smiling widely.

“Stop,” I warned, taking a few cautionary steps backwards.

He came to a stop a few steps away from me and raised his eyebrows.

“Stjarnavetr,” he said.

“What are you doing?” I asked worriedly.

“I wanted to see you again. We’ve not had nearly enough time together since I have been here.”

“I do not want to see you,” I responded darkly, surprising myself. Despite the forced harshness of my words, though, I still felt extreme unease.

He looked shocked at first, but then managed to compose himself and laughed. “What? Why not, my love?”

“I am not your mistress anymore,” I said, attempting to keep the tremble out of my voice.

He merely cocked his head. “Well, we can correct that, can’t we?”

“What?” I asked incredulously.

He grinned at me and shook his head. “Stjarnavetr, Father is dead. You can come back home.”

I stared at him, lips parted in shock.

“Go back to Vanaheim?” I whispered. My eyes slowly traveled downwards and I stared at the floor.

“Yes, love. Everything will go back to how it was.”

I had often imagined going back home, but not to Valdrlund. I had imagined being with my father again, perhaps even with his new family, but Valdrlund would not have that; he would want me as his mistress again and the thought of that frightened me. Even after nearly fifteen years of being apart, he had not forgotten me as I had so foolishly hoped he would do, just as I had tried to do.

Valdrlund came closer to me, but I did not move. He had stunned me with his words. Though I had imagined returning to Vanaheim before, I had never thought of it with much seriousness. I thought it impossible. Aldregimildr had exiled me, I could not go back… but Valdrlund could reverse that. He was king now.

And now Valdrlund reached out and took my hand in his and pulled me closer to him. I slowly looked up at him, barely registering how my skin prickled at his touch.

“Everything would go back to how it had been?”

“Yes, love.”

“You would scream at me?”

Valdrlund stared at me, appearing to be slightly surprised at my words.

Before he could respond, though, I quietly continued, “You would hit me again? You would hurt me?”

He let out a little sigh. “Stjarnavetr, I only did those things because I love you.”

Now I turned my head away from him and pulled my hand out of his. I took a step back and said, “That is not love. You do not love me.”

Valdrlund took me by the arm, though not roughly, and made me look at him. “I have loved you from the first moment we met. Do not tell me who I do and do not love.”

“You do not love me,” I reiterated, attempting to keep the tears out of my voice. “You do not hurt those you love.”

Valdrlund’s lips twitched and I could tell he was trying to remain calm. His voice was condescending. “And what do you know of love?”

I stared at him, but could not bear to hold his gaze for too long. I glanced away and he let out a short, humorless laugh. Now his voice was harsh. “Do not tell me that you are in love with him. Do not dare to tell me that.”

I slowly looked up at him, feeling some small and unexpected burst of audacity. “What if I was?” I challenged. “What if I did love him? What would you do then, Valdrlund?”

And then I gasped when he reached up and wrapped his fingers around my upper arms. He shoved me back against the wall and it was not daring I felt then, but fear. I stiffened against the wall as he leaned down towards me, teeth bared in his anger.

“After all I have done for you, Stjarnavetr, and you presume to—”

Suddenly, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. Valdrlund must have seen it, too, for we both looked at the same time.

My body went cold when I saw Loki standing not even ten steps away. He was leaning forward, fists clenched at his sides and eyes fixed on Valdrlund. He looked as if he was about to attack him.

“Loki,” I breathed, hoping he would not do anything rash. I felt Valdrlund slightly tighten his grip on me.

“Take your hands off her,” Loki said tightly, his voice low with threat.

A chill went through me at his voice—it was almost frightening. I was not sure I had ever heard Loki speak like that.

Valdrlund did not immediately move. I was still staring nervously at Loki and trying not to breathe too hard. Valdrlund slowly relaxed his grip on me and took a step back. He looked down at me and I could see the rage beneath the calm and I felt distress. I turned my head away; I could not bear to look at him.

After a long moment, he turned and walked away from me. Perhaps he did not think the confrontation worth it, but whatever it was, I felt relief that he had gone. I heard his fading footsteps down the corridor and allowed myself to slightly relax against the wall.

But then Loki was suddenly in front of me, reaching out to touch my arms where Valdrlund had been holding me.

“Did he hurt you?” Loki asked concernedly, his voice completely different from moments ago.

“No,” I said, pulling away slightly when he touched me.

He let his hands fall back to his sides.

“Are you alright, Stjarna?”

“I am fine,” I replied, not looking up to meet his gaze.

“I want you to stay with me tonight.”

When I glanced up at him in surprise, he quickly continued, “This is not me trying to… it is just… I am worried for you. I do not trust him. You may have my bed, I’ll sleep on my couch if you want me to, but I do not want—”

“No.”

Loki looked slightly exasperated. “Stjarna, did I not promise you I would not leave you alone?”

I stared up at him in the dimness of the corridor, feeling the tears coming on. I conjured images of us lying together in his bed. I remembered when he had told me that, when he had promised to look after me when Valdrlund inevitably came to Asgard. He had tried his best to soothe me when I had panicked.

But that was before everything had fallen apart. Even if some tiny part of me appreciated his concern now, I did not want to go back to him like that.

“Leave me alone, Loki,” I said quietly, slipping past him.

But then he grabbed my arm—not roughly—and pulled me back to him.

His voice was gentle. “Stjarna, please. Stay with me tonight.”

I gave a little shake of my head, not looking up at him.

“Why not?” he asked sincerely.

Now I managed to raise my head and meet his eyes. I thought back to when I had told him I hated him and yet now here he was. “I just want to be left alone, Loki. Please... just leave me alone…”

I pulled my arm from him and turned around and walked away. I could feel his gaze on me as I walked, but I did not look back.

Once within the safety of my own chambers, I leaned gratefully against the door. I put my hand over my eyes and took a deep breath. I had thought Vanaheim and Valdrlund behind me, but now it—he—had come back to torment me. Would I never escape it? Would Vanaheim never leave me in peace?

I slowly went to one of the chairs in front of my fireplace and sat down. With a flick of my wrist, I rekindled the dying embers and stared contemplatively into the fire.

He wanted me to go back with him, but of course I would not return with him. Valdrlund would expect me to fall back into the same routine. He would hurt me again and I daresay it might be worse than before. He might seek to punish me somehow for having dared to share Loki’s bed.

Valdrlund frightened me, but he would be gone soon enough. And yet, I could not stop thinking of him. I sat in front of my fire and could not help but to remember how he had reduced me to a screaming, bloody mess in a stone cell. I kept thinking of how Valdrlund had been the one to put me there and he dared to think that I would want to go back with him? But Valdrlund had never been the most perceptive type.

He may have said he loved me, but I knew he did not. How could he? Even if Loki had never loved me, even if he had betrayed me with those other women, at least he had never hit me. At least he had never hurt me in the way Valdrlund had.

I was so consumed with these thoughts of Valdrlund and Loki that I barely heard the door to my chambers open and then slowly shut. But when I heard the lock click, it was as if my blood froze. I slowly turned in the chair and looked behind me.

Valdrlund was standing by my door, smiling at me.

Before he could even open his mouth to speak or move, I bolted up out of the chair, nearly knocking it over in my haste, and quickly moved backwards.

Valdrlund ignored my reaction to his unannounced entrance. He glanced around the room and remarked, “The queen has treated you quite well, hasn’t she?”

I could only stare at him, lips parted in horror. How had he found my chambers?

“What are you doing here?” I demanded weakly, trying unsuccessfully to mask the fear in my voice.

“I’ve come to see you, obviously. We were so rudely interrupted in the corridor, after all.”

How had he left the great hall this time?

As if reading my thoughts, Valdrlund explained with a grin, “You’re not the only one here tonight that can produce a shade.”

So he had made a copy of himself that now walked around or sat in the great hall. Valdrlund, an actual Van—not like Loki—was a true master of magic. He could control his shade even from across the palace, could have it converse with people even while he did something completely different on the other side.

The thought of that filled me with a sickening dread.

“Get out,” I ordered, attempting to keep my voice from breaking.

Valdrlund almost looked surprised, as if he could not believe I had just said that. “What did you say to me?”

Now my voice was softer. “I said get out.”

“No,” he said simply. “We have some catching up to do, don’t we?”

He strode forward, but I quickly moved behind the little table in between my two chairs in front of the fireplace.

He stopped and looked at me. “What are you doing, Stjarnavetr?” he asked coolly.

“I—I do not want you here.”

And then quite suddenly he moved. He reached out for me across the table and grabbed my arm and I cried out in surprise as he quickly moved around and held me tightly by the arm. His grip was iron and I could not pull away and I stared up at him in fear.

“Whether or not you want me here,” he growled ominously, “there are some things I need to discuss with you.”

I swallowed hard as he leaned down. Our noses were only inches apart.

“I want to know,” he growled, keeping his voice dangerously low, “why you spread your legs for him.”

I felt my chin trembling, but I could hardly think of what to say. He knew I had lain with Loki, so I could not tell him I had never done it, but he would not believe that we were not together anymore, either, what with the way Loki had been at the banquet and in the corridor.

So I only said tremulously, “I no longer share his bed.”

He pulled back and smiled, but it was a thin, humorless smile. “Do not lie to me, Stjarna.”

He said it viciously, making Loki’s nickname for me sound dirty.

“Valdrlund,” I beseeched, “I am not—”

But he cut me off with a sharp yank. I winced, for my arm was still sore from where he had grabbed me earlier. He hissed, “You do not share your body with any but me. You are mine and have always been mine and I will always be the only one to have you.”

And in that moment, it was not fear I felt, but anger. But I did not suppress it as I often did with him, always too afraid to show it. I was not his mistress anymore. He could not do this to me.

Though it hurt, I wrenched away from him and quickly took a step back. Valdrlund, not expecting so sudden a movement, let me go and stared at me.

“I am not your mistress anymore,” I uttered, keeping my voice hard.

He drew himself up and scowled at me. “Well, you should be grateful, you know.”

“Grateful?” I said with contempt. And then the anger came on again, even stronger than before, and I could not help but to yell, could not help the tears that now choked my voice. “Grateful! Do you know what you did to me, Valdrlund? Do you? You killed your own child and you nearly killed me!”

His gaze was murderous. “I saved you, Stjarnavetr,” he replied grimly. “If it was not for me, you would be dead.”

When I scoffed, he suddenly lost all semblance of equanimity.

“Did you hear me?” he screamed, eyes fastened coldly on me. “If it was not for me, you would be dead! It is only by me that you came to this realm, Stjarnavetr. Father was going to send you to Midgard still wrapped in your bloody sheets! It is only because of me that Queen Frigga allowed you to come here.”

I could only gape wide-eyed at him, heart pounding loudly in my chest.

“Do you understand?” he snapped when I did not say anything. “It was by my mercy that you came here! I called upon Queen Frigga! I was the one who begged her, I was the one who asked her to take you in! Were you so stupid as to think it was Father who did all that? He wanted you dead, Stjarnavetr. It is only because of me that you are alive at all! And you have the audacity to reject me? You have the audacity to lie with another man after I did that for you?”

I had always assumed that it was Aldregimildr who had exiled me to Asgard. But he had planned to kill me? Certainly in my state, Midgard would have been a sure death sentence. I would not have lasted three days, but I could hardly believe it. I would have died if it had not been for Valdrlund? Even after everything he had done to me and everything he had put me through, he had, in the end, sought to save me?

“You saved me?” I whispered, my eyes drifting down. I was still in shock.

His voice was softer, but no less hard. “Yes. I told Queen Frigga what had been done to you and she took you in out of pity.”

I could certainly imagine it. He had probably lied to the queen and told her somebody else—probably his father—had done that to me. He would not have held himself responsible, I thought bitterly. He had probably endeavored to appear the distraught and concerned lover.

“Stjarnavetr,” he said tenderly now. “I do not expect you to understand, but I did what I did because I love you. I did it because I had to. Otherwise Father would have had both of you killed. I could not lose you, as well.”

When I only stared at the floor, mouth still half-open in disbelief and tears blurring my vision, Valdrlund came closer to me. He gently curled his fingers under my chin and lifted my face up. The tears spilled over and rolled down my face and he almost looked sorry. Almost.

“I did what I did out of mercy,” he said softly.

And as I stared up at him, all previous notions about my banishment, all previous assumptions about my downfall ripped and torn to shreds, I suddenly thought back to that night and the days following. I remembered how I had been drenched in my own rotten blood, trapped in that dark cell for two days with the little corpse of our child. I could hardly recall the agony now, but I knew that the pain I had experienced then was the worst I would ever experience in my life. The pain of losing my babe, the pain of my exile, and now all of this pain I had endured here with Loki…

I thought it would have been better if he had let me die.

But that word—that damned word—kept reverberating around in my mind.

Mercy.

It was by his mercy that I was alive. Only by his mercy that I stood here at all. And now I did not find myself shrinking from Valdrlund. I was going towards him, going towards the anger I could feel bubbling up inside me. This hate and this fury that had never truly had a chance to show, but it had always been there, had always been waiting for this.

I yanked away from him, put my hands on his chest, and shoved him. The seidr heating my palms lent me extra strength and Valdrlund, not expecting this reaction, stumbled backwards.

“Mercy!” I screamed. “Should I be indebted to you, then? Should I be on the floor at your feet kissing your boots?”

Valdrlund lifted his eyebrows in surprise when I raised my voice to him and I just kept getting louder and louder and I could see his face twisting in anger, but I was so heated and I could not stop. I took a step towards him and rose up on my tiptoes.

“Yes, it is by you that I am here! It is by you that I was brought so low! It is because of you, Valdrlund, that I cannot bear children or ever hope to have a normal life. Do not speak to me of your mercy! Damn your mercy and damn you!”

He pulled his lips back in anger and gritted his teeth. “You forget to whom you speak, Stjarnavetr.”

“How could I ever forget?” I cried. “I will never forget you, Valdrlund, but I am not yours anymore. You do not own me any longer.”

“Does he?” he snapped suddenly.

He spoke of Loki, but I was done. I felt so tired. I just wanted him to leave, I just wanted to be alone—but Valdrlund was not done.

“Does he own you now?” Valdrlund shouted, leaning forward.

“I do not belong to anybody,” I said angrily.

And then suddenly, Valdrlund moved. Before I could even raise my hands to try to defend myself, he had grabbed me around the neck and shoved me hard up against the wall. I wrapped my fingers around his hand, but I could not dislodge him and he glared down at me. No longer did I look up at him in defiance, but in terror.

“I do not like it when you lie to me, Stjarnavetr. I do not like it when you raise your voice to me and I do not like it when you defy me. And I especially do not like that you’ve taken another to your bed. I do not like that you’ve let another see that pretty cunt of yours.” When he leaned down and I could feel his hot breath ruffling the hair by my ear, a terrifying chill went through me. He let his voice drop. “Need I remind you who you belong to? Never him, Stjarnavetr, but me, only me…”

And then he kissed my cheek and fear twisted my insides and tears sprang to my eyes as I tried once more to unsuccessfully extricate his fingers from around my neck. My labored breaths were coming faster and my heart was beating painfully quickly in my chest.

Valdrlund slowly released my neck and I sucked in a deep breath, but before I could do anything, he captured my wrists and lifted them above my head. He took them both tightly in one hand and let his other hand drift down to cup my breast. He lightly ran his fingers down farther until he took me by the hip and pressed against me. I squeezed my eyes shut and turned my head.

“How I have missed you these years, Stjarnavetr,” he murmured desirously, pressing his lips and nose into my tear-stained cheek. “All those women at court falling over me like bitches in heat… none to compare to you…”

I tried to twist beneath him and much to my surprise, he loosened his hold on my wrists. Just as I went to put my hands on his chest to push him away, he willingly took a step back. But before I could do anything, he drew his arm back and slapped me hard across the face. Fire exploded in my cheek and I stumbled sideways and fell with a cry against the side of the fireplace. I barely had time to collect myself before once again I felt his fingers around my throat.

He yanked me towards him and hissed, “Be still.”

Immediately, I froze. My entire body was shaking and I felt a terrible anticipation in the pit of my stomach. The side of my head was throbbing and my cheek was burning. Valdrlund did not speak for a long while and I slowly closed my eyes.

And then to my horror he whispered, “I have not tasted you in so long, love. Go lie on the bed.”

He released my neck, but I only stood there, eyes closed and body still trembling. I could not move. I was too filled with this dread. When I did not do as he said, he suddenly grabbed the back of my head and twisted a fistful of hair in his hand. He jerked my head down and to the side and I could not help but to squeeze my eyes shut and whimper at the sharp pain in my scalp.

Valdrlund leaned down next to me and growled, “Did you not hear me, Stjarna? Go lie on the bed.”

He roughly pushed me forward by my head and I stumbled a few steps. Tears sprang to my eyes, but I kept them closed and wrapped my arms around myself.

Valdrlund made a sound of exasperation and then he roughly grabbed me by the arm and was in front of me dragging me after him.

“Valdrlund!” I gasped as he nearly threw me onto the bed.

I fell forward over it and he grabbed my other arm and quickly spun me around and pushed me backwards. My first instinct was to get away from him; I clawed frantically at the covers and tried to scramble towards the other side of the bed, but he grabbed my dress and was suddenly in the bed with me, holding me down and crawling over me.

I tried to push him off of me, but he was so heavy and now my entire body felt impossibly weak with fear. I was shaking violently and all I could think of was all those times he had come to me in Vanaheim and I had not wanted this but he had forced me anyway. This had happened more times than I could count, but not here in Asgard, this could not happen here… and they were all at the banquet, they were all on the other side of the palace…

My mind was racing, this sickening panic rising up in my throat, and I glanced desperately at the door and the first thing that came to my mind was Loki. And I kept looking at the door, uselessly pushing against Valdrlund, barely able to focus on anything, foolishly hoping that the door would open and Loki would be there and he would come and get Valdrlund off of me. But the door did not open—had he not locked it?—and Valdrlund was yanking my dress up and forcing my legs apart and the tears welled up in my throat and they were running down my face.

Where was Loki? Why was he not coming? Did he not know, why did he not?

And then I screamed his name, somehow in my frayed state thinking he might hear it all the way across the palace, hoping desperately that he might hear me crying for him, but just as his name left my mouth, Valdrlund took me viciously by the face and forced me to look up at him.

“You’re not his whore and yet you scream his name?” he demanded. He glowered at me and then whispered angrily, “You will remember, Stjarnavetr, that you belong to none but me.”

I tried again to weakly push him off me, but he grabbed both of my wrists and pinned them to the bed. He leaned down and pressed his lips to my ear and I froze beneath him.

“If you do not lie still, Stjarnavetr, I will make this worse. Do you understand?”

I could not speak, could barely move, but Valdrlund seemingly did not need a reply from me. He let go of my wrists and resumed fumbling with the front of his robe. Soon it was open and he was pulling at the laces of his pants beneath.

I turned my head, the tears making it so I could hardly see, and closed my eyes when the realization hit me.

Loki was not coming to save me.

But I begged for him anyway. I kept repeating his name over and over in my mind, this desperate and silent litany, and kept apologizing to him. How I had not meant it, I had not meant it, I did not hate him, I was so sorry, to please come back, to please come to me…

I felt Valdrlund push his pants down over his hips and he was there between my legs and I could feel him reaching down to guide himself into me.

“Valdrlund!” I pleaded, choking back the tears. Just once more did I attempt to get out from below him, but he was so incredibly heavy and I felt so exhausted and powerless and I could not budge him. I was crying now, attempting to frantically twist out from beneath him, trying to push up on the bed with my feet, but he was kneeling on the back of my dress and I could not move at all and I was tearfully beseeching him, “Please, please, no, no, no—!”

And then he was inside me, pushing hard and all the way in. I screamed; his rigid flesh was so hard against mine, so soft and unwilling, and the pain was sharp and piercing and I froze beneath him. All I could do was stare helplessly up, mouth wide open and breath caught in my throat; I could not breathe and the tears were blinding me, rolling down into my hair.

Valdrlund groaned and closed his eyes and let his head drop. His expression was one of utter satisfaction and he rolled his hips against me to get in deeper. I whimpered for the pain and slowly turned my head to the side as he hovered there, breathing hard. He began moving heavily above me and I gripped the bedcovers on either side of me, bit my tongue until the taste of blood filled my mouth, trying to block out the searing pain between my legs, trying to imagine myself anywhere but suffocating beneath him.

I stared tearfully into the fireplace, trying to focus on the crackling fire there. It was something for my strained mind to cling onto, something to distance myself from what he was doing to me, but it kept going on and on and I counted the seconds, willing it to be over, but I kept losing count and it did not stop, why had he not stopped yet?

But then Valdrlund paused in his movements to lean down and kiss my tear-stained cheek. He turned his head and kissed the side of my mouth and almost tenderly brushed the hairs plastered to my damp face away. He lifted back up and resumed his slow thrusts and I lay there limply for an eternity it seemed, just like I always had back in Vanaheim.

Soon his breaths were coming unevenly and his rhythm faltered. He expulsed a heavy breath and settled onto me and I whimpered again; I could feel his hot breath on my neck, could feel his stubble grating against my flushed and sweaty skin as he kissed me and came inside me.

He held himself there for a long time, but I did not move—I could not have moved even if I had wanted to—and while he let his breaths return to normal, while he lightly kissed my jaw and cheek, I still stared into the fire. Though I had stopped crying and my eyes were burning, I kept them fixed on the dancing flames.

Valdrlund gingerly slipped his hand under my swollen cheek and lifted my face up. I stared teary-eyed up at him and slowly closed my eyes as he leaned down and kissed me on the lips. After a long moment, he let me go and pulled away and out of me. My head fell limply to the side and he got off the bed and went around it and into my bath chamber, presumably to clean himself off.

Almost lethargically, I reached down to push the front of my dress over my exposed self. I could smell him so strongly, could detect the faint hint of blood in the air. I carefully closed my legs, wincing at the slick feeling there, this deep and burning ache between my thighs.

Moments later, Valdrlund was back in my main room, lacing his pants back up and adjusting his robe so he looked presentable again. He smoothed his hair down before coming around the edge of the bed and kneeling next to it. He extended his arm and placed a gentle hand on my cheek.

I only stared at him. I did not flinch from his touch, nor did I cry out.

Valdrlund looked at me in what almost appeared to be remorse.

“I love you, Stjarnavetr,” he said softly, stroking my cheek. He looked down at the bed and then back up at me. “I still want you to come back with me.”

I did not even react. In truth, I could barely focus on what he was saying.

And then he slowly rose up and leaned over me. He took my face in his hands and I could feel the warmth of his seidr seeping into me. The faint throbbing in my cheek where he had struck me went away and my eyes grew heavy.

“I will try to see you as soon as I can,” he whispered, “and I will speak to Queen Frigga soon about your returning to Vanaheim with me.”

When I did not reply—still only looked up at him through half-lidded eyes—he let out a small, soundless sigh. He leaned down and kissed me tenderly on the forehead. He murmured, “I love you,” before he rose and turned and then was gone.

I lay there motionless on my bed for a long time, still staring into the fire—anything to distract from the aching between my legs, anything to not think of what had just happened. It was only when the flames began to dwindle that I finally managed to rouse myself. I rolled over and arduously pulled myself towards the edge of the bed. I sat up and a feeling of intense nausea rolled through me and I had to close my eyes and grip the edge of the bed to quell it.

When the feeling had passed, I slowly opened my teary eyes and slipped off the bed, but as soon as my feet hit the floor, my knees gave out and I collapsed. I barely caught myself and then I was shakily crawling the few feet towards the wall, curling up against the cold stone, and my body was shivering uncontrollably and I buried my face in between my drawn-up knees and I wept.


	41. Part I - Chapter 41

Stjarnavetr

I had not gone back to my bed—I could not bear to lie upon it afterwards—and so I had lain in the floor all through the night. It was only when the pale light of morning began to creep into my room that I roused myself. My entire body ached, but it helped to distract from that dull and persistent ache between my legs.

I winced as I shakily climbed to my feet. I stood there for a long time leaning against the wall before I slowly made my way around the bed and into my bath chamber. I drew a hot bath and lethargically stripped. As I let my dress fall to the floor, I caught a sight of red on the back and quickly looked away.

I could still feel him on me—could still smell him on me—and I lowered myself gingerly into the tub. Oddly enough, I did not cry. I focused instead on trying to get him off of me, hoping that the hot water would help to boil his touch away; I scoured myself until I was red, scrubbed my inner thighs until they began to bleed and the water pinkened. I grimaced and bit back a whimper of pain as the hot water burned the newly exposed skin, but I did not stop scrubbing. I wanted him off of me, but no matter how many times I washed myself, it did not feel enough. I could still feel him; his scent, his very essence, had permeated my skin and I did not think I would ever be able to get him off of me.

I lay in the tub for a long time until the water turned cold and I began to shiver, but I liked how the cold seemed to numb me—how it nearly took all feeling away.

And all the while I only stared at the wall and kept wondering what I had done to deserve this? What had I done in my life to warrant this suffering? For Valdrlund to have had me in Vanaheim for so long, for Loki to have had me here in Asgard and then to betray me so, and now Valdrlund again… what had I done? I could think of nothing, could not see why the Norns plagued me with such misery.

Eventually, I rose up out of the bath and stumbled out. I dried myself off and cringed when the cloth brushed against my inner thighs. I had scrubbed the skin raw and could see the tender skin beneath, now an angry red, but I did not bother to heal myself. Maybe Valdrlund would not want me again if I was damaged, for I knew he would inevitably seek me out again and there was not much I could do to avoid him.

And yet, I feared staying here, but I did not wish to go to the queen’s chambers, either. I did not think I could sit with them all and hear them talking about him and the banquet. So I dressed and left my rooms. I did not know where I was going, but only knew that I did not wish to stay here. And eventually I found myself in a surprising place: my and Loki’s courtyard.

It was one of the smaller and less used courtyards in the palace. That was why Loki and I had liked it. It had rough stone walls overgrown with foliage and two large trees that cast rings of shade onto the ground. It was not as large or as grand as some of the other courtyards, but it was a good place to be alone and so I sat on one of the stone benches beneath one of the trees. I picked a leaf up off the ground and absentmindedly played with it between my fingers, wondering if I could sit here until Valdrlund left Asgard.

I just wanted to be alone, but the Fates would not leave me to be.

Not half an hour after sitting down, I heard a voice. Though it was not Valdrlund, I would have preferred any other.

“Stjarna?”

I turned around and saw Loki standing near the entrance of the courtyard. He was gazing at me warily.

I wondered what he was doing here, but did not say anything. I turned back around and hoped he would go away, for I did not wish to see anybody now, but I heard a small twig snap under his foot as he slowly came towards me. When he tentatively sat down next to me on the bench, I looked away and to the side.

“What are you doing here?” I whispered. I wanted him to go away.

“The same as you, probably,” he replied. “To be alone. Thor invited Valdrlund to participate in our training this morning and I could not stand him so I left. But to be honest, it did not look like he could stand me either, so it was mutual.”

I wondered briefly why he had come here of all places to be alone when he could have gone back to his own chambers, but remained silent.

And then Loki said, much to my surprise, “I am sorry you have to see him.”

But still I did not look at him. I stared at the ground, running the leaf through my fingers.

“And I am sorry about last night. I just could not stand the sight of him touching you. It…” he exhaled and I knew then that he was talking about when Valdrlund had danced with me. “It just made me so angry.”

But I was not really listening to him. All I could think of was how I had screamed his name, how I had cried for him—how he had not come for me. But it was my fault, I knew. I was the one who had told him to leave me alone.

“He will be gone soon, though,” Loki remarked. “At least—”

“Stop,” I interrupted, letting out a shaky breath. “Stop… stop talking about him.”

I was beginning to feel ill just hearing about him.

Loki was quiet for a long time. And then, “Well… I know you do not want to hear me. Or see me. But my offer still stands, Stjarna. If you want to… you may stay with me.”

“Why do you do this?” I asked quietly. “Why do you keep on?”

I wondered how Loki could still be so persistent. I knew he was not the type to be so easily deterred, but I would have thought that perhaps after everything, he would have realized that it truly was over between us. My words to him those weeks ago, when I had told him I hated him… and yet still he tried.

“Because I care for you,” was his response.

I let my eyes rove aimlessly over the stony ground, no longer playing with the leaf. I let it flutter to the ground and remembered how Loki had promised me that he would not leave me alone, but I had rebuffed him. I wished now more than ever that I had not. I wished I had gone to his chambers and wished I would not have rejected him so utterly. I knew that if I had trusted him—just once more—none of this would have happened.

But it was too late now.

When I did not respond to him, he said, “I heard what you said, Stjarna.”

I wondered what he was talking about, but did not speak.

“In the corridor… when he asked you if you loved me.”

Now I finally looked over at him.

“Did you mean it?” he asked softly. “Do you still love me?”

I focused my gaze back onto the ground and stared at my fallen leaf.

I had before thought briefly of going to Loki afterwards. I knew he would listen to me and I knew he would believe me, but I could not stand the thought of sitting before him and admitting to him what Valdrlund had done to me. I had refused his help before and such shame I would feel if I were to go back to him like that. And now I could not help but to feel some sense of anger at Loki. Even though I knew he could not know, here he sat next to me so oblivious and I was falling apart on the inside.

“No,” I finally responded, keeping my voice soft and unfeeling. “I was lying. I only said it to… to make him angry.”

“I do not believe you,” he rejoined.

“Then do not believe me,” I whispered. In that moment, it did not matter to me if he believed me or not. I did not care that he was here—I only wanted him to leave—and I did not care that he might have suspected that I still loved him. Nothing seemed to matter anymore.

“Stjarna,” Loki murmured with a shake of his head. And then I felt him brush the backs of his fingers lightly down my arm, as if trying to comfort me, but his touch sent a sudden and terrifying jolt through me and I nearly leaped off the bench and bumped into the tree.

He stood up and looked worried. “Stjarna—?”

“Do not touch me!” I said coldly, trying to control my erratic breathing and endeavoring to mask the panic I could feel rising up inside me. “Do not touch me again!”

I went to storm past him, attempting to swallow the tears, but he caught my arm and tried to get me to stop.

“Stjarna, what—”

“No! Get off of me!” I nearly screamed, wrenching away from him. When he only stared at me in a sort of shocked silence, I wanted to burst into sobs.

I thought again of telling him, but he would get so angry and I would feel such disgrace and it would not be good for me. He would only make it worse, I knew… and so I only turned around, choking back the tears, and left him there alone.

__

Two days passed.

I did not see Valdrlund during that time; he did not come to me again, nor did he call me to him. I thought perhaps it might have been that he was taken up with his kingly duties. I hoped it was that—I hoped he would be so busy that he would have no time to seek me out. I hoped he would simply forget about me, but I knew that was as hopeless as it was foolish.

I could barely sleep and when I was not sleeping I was crying and trying to block out the memory of that night. I had not been to dinner these past two days, either. I could not bear to sit among them all while they laughed and joked and I could not bear to see him sitting up there at the high table. So I had food brought to my chambers when I was hungry, which was not often, and would eat in silence.

I had just finished a meager supper the second night after Valdrlund had come to my rooms and was sitting in front of my fire, staring blankly into the flames, when suddenly there was a knocking at my door. My heart immediately began to beat faster, but I calmed myself with the thought that if it was Valdrlund, he simply would have come in.

I quickly composed myself and went to the door, wondering as to who it could be. I suspected one of the other handmaidens, for Gullhár had inquired after me thrice these past two days when I had not gone to the queen’s chambers. I had feigned illness, but had declined going with her to see Eir.

But when I opened the door, it was not Gullhár standing there.

“Skapgódr?” I whispered.

Skapgódr grinned at me. “Lady! It has been long, has it not?”

I only stared at him. The last time I had seen Skapgódr, he had come to tell me that Valdrlund had summoned me to dine with him. That had been our last night together in Vanaheim.

I nodded, but my heart fell at his presence. It could only mean one thing. “What do you want?”

“His Majesty King Valdrlund wished to see you this night, Lady.”

I shook my head and went to close and lock the door. “I will not go.”

“Lady!” he cried, stopping the door from closing before I could fully shut it. I knew Skapgódr was a good boy, despite the iniquity of his master, and so I stared at him warily. “The king is insistent.”

“Is he?” I murmured.

And then Skapgódr said tentatively, almost looking sorry, “His Majesty said if you did not come to him this night, he would come to you.”

It felt as if all the color drained out of my face. I did not want to go, but then I thought that Valdrlund might do something unpleasant if I were to so blatantly disobey him. He had come to my chambers and entered without my consent, after all. I did not doubt now that he would do it again. I had so foolishly thought that he might not be like that here, not while in another realm, but I had been wrong—so dreadfully wrong.

I turned my head and glanced at my bed. A hot flush spread through my body and I felt ill. I did not want him to come here again. I did not want him to hurt me again as he had before. Perhaps if I went to him willingly, he would not be angry with me.

I slowly turned back around, gave a small nod to Skapgódr, who I knew also might be punished if I did not come, and slipped out into the corridor. I reluctantly followed him to Valdrlund’s chambers, which had been given to him by the Allfather during his stay here.

My insides twisted in apprehension when we finally came to his doors, for I dreaded to see him again. There were two Van guards standing outside and they looked at me, though I was not sure if they knew who I was or not. Nonetheless, when they saw Skapgódr, they opened the doors and allowed me entrance.

As I went in, I looked around. Valdrlund’s chambers were even larger than Thor’s, from what I could remember, and were richly furnished as only befitting a visiting king. My eyes then nearly immediately landed on Valdrlund. He was standing by the large fireplace and held a cup of wine in his hand. He looked up when the doors shut behind me with a resounding and dreadful thud.

He smiled at me. “Stjarnavetr.”

I exhaled slowly, for I had been holding my breath, and in that moment it seemed as if all of my worries had simply drained away. Where before I had been anxious and even fearful, now when actually confronted with him after everything, I oddly felt nothing but this cold passivity. He had already taken everything from me. What else could he possibly take? What more could he possibly do to me?

He came up to me, but I did not flinch away from him. He leaned down and kissed me on the cheek.

“I am sorry that I’ve not been able to see you, love. I’ve been taken up with the Allfather.”

“What is it you want?” I asked quietly, ignoring his previous statement.

He paused for a moment, but then said amusedly, “I wanted to see you. Also, I still have not been able to sit down with Queen Frigga. I shall try to see her tomorrow, but I think everything shall be in order for your return to Vanaheim with me.”

I replied softly, but firmly, “I am not going back with you.”

I knew he could not make me. I was no longer a citizen of Vanaheim; Valdrlund was not my king and he could not force me to go back. He may have been able to scream at me and hit me, but he could not drag me back to Vanaheim if I did not wish it.

“Oh?” he laughed. “And why not?”

“Because I hate you,” I said stoically. Normally I would have been afraid to say something so daring, but it came so easily now, for in that moment, I oddly did not fear the repercussions. Even if he struck me, even if he dragged me to his bed and forced himself upon me again, I did not think I would feel anything.

But instead of hitting me, as I almost expected him to do, he took my chin between his fingers and made me look up at him. He did not look angry at all, which surprised me, but almost remorseful.

“Did I never apologize to you, Stjarnavetr?”

I gazed up at him in confusion and then flinched when I felt his other hand brush gently against my belly.

“I am sorry, my love,” he murmured, “for everything that has been done to you. For our child… your banishment… I regretted it every day after. Never did I not think of you and the child.”

I closed my eyes and shook my head and he let go of my chin. He was lying to me, he could not be sorry… and yet at the mention of our child, I could not help the tears that immediately began to gather behind my eyelids, the sobs that began to well up in my throat.

And then he said softly, “It was a boy, you know.”

When a quiet sob unexpectedly burst out of me, Valdrlund took a step towards me and enfolded me in his arms. I did not yank away from him, but only tearfully whispered, “A son?”

I felt him nod.

A son… my and Valdrlund’s son—that bloody little mass on the stone floor.

Valdrlund reached up to stroke my hair. “Father would have had both of you killed, Stjarnavetr, there was nothing else to do…”

And now I could hold it back no longer. I began to softly cry. I had wondered before if I had carried a little boy or a little girl. Sometimes I had dared to imagine what it would have been like if I had borne it. When I had first come to Asgard after my exile, I spent many nights crying for the thought of what I had lost.

I recalled how Valdrlund would have us lie on his bed and he would stroke my belly and lovingly whisper to the growing babe inside. I had loved that side of him. I almost never would have thought that he could be so gentle or caring. When I had been with child, he had never raised his voice to me or struck me and I had often wondered what type of father Valdrlund might have been. Would he have ever screamed at his little girl like he did me? Would he have inevitably beat his son as he did me? But it had been so difficult to imagine that he would ever do that when he was whispering affections into my belly and being so tender with me.

And yet despite everything, he had killed it—him, our little son—and nearly killed me.

Valdrlund moved his hands up now and put them on either side of my face. He lifted my head up.

“Stjarnavetr,” he said gently, “if it had not been for my mercy—”

Oh, that word! That word!

I wrenched away from him. “Stop saying that!” I cried, shaking my head. “Do not say that to me!”

Valdrlund did not grow angry with me, however. He looked imploring. “I will make this up to you, Stjarnavetr.”

But I had heard that before and I shook my head. I could never look at him again without remembering that it was him who had lowered me so utterly. I would never forget my screaming for him when I had thought that I was dying, when I was crying for him and begging him to come and help me and he did not.

“Come back with me and I will show you,” he said softly.

My voice was choked with tears. “No, I cannot, I cannot...”

“You would see your father again,” he urged.

I looked up at him in surprise, tears still rolling down my face.

“He’s got a little son now. Your brother. His name is Réttrmund.”

I remembered that when Loki had brought my father from Vanaheim, he had told me he had married again and she was with child. So Konavefr had borne him a son… he would be eleven years old now.

But though I missed my father terribly and would have loved to meet his new family, I could not imagine going back to Vanaheim and enduring Valdrlund for however much longer he intended to keep me. And I knew it might be even worse than before, since he might seek to punish me for having lain with Loki for so long.

I managed to hold back my tears and whispered, “I will not go back with you.”

And it was then when the Valdrlund I knew came through. He pressed his lips together in what looked like annoyance and said, “Your father is struggling, you know. He is hard-pressed for work.”

I glanced up at him in alarm. What was he implying?

“I could make it worse for him,” he continued, keeping his voice low. “I could make it even more difficult for him to live, for him to support his family.”

I stared at him, aghast. But I knew that he would do as he said; Valdrlund was king now and if he willed it, my father could lose anything and everything.

“You would be so cruel?” I asked tremulously, my voice filled with dread.

“Cruel?” he echoed, sounding surprised. “I do this because I love you, Stjarnavetr. Can you not see that I love you? Come back with me and all shall be well.”

It felt as if my blood had turned to ice in my veins when I realized what he was doing. He was giving me an ultimatum: to either return to Vanaheim with him or he would make it harder—or perhaps impossible—for my father and his family to live. And I knew he would do it. Despite his professions of love for me, I knew he would not hesitate to make me suffer like this.

I slowly looked down at the ground, breath caught in my throat and on the verge of once again bursting into sobs. “Please,” I beseeched, my voice shaking, “please… do not do this to me. Do not make me do this, Valdrlund…”

Would he be responsive to my begging?

“Stjarnavetr,” he said tenderly, speaking to me as if I was a child, “I love you. I want you with me. And you will get to see your family again. I know it has been a long time for you.”

I swallowed hard, dreading my next words.

“Val,” I whispered, using my nickname for him back in Vanaheim, hoping he might be receptive to that, “I will do anything… anything you wish of me tonight or the next or… or every night after while you are here… if only you will not make me go back.”

“That would not be enough,” he answered immediately, though gently. My heart fell. “I want you always, Stjarnavetr. Not just tonight or the next.”

I stared down at the floor, my vision blurred with tears. It would do no good. Even after I had offered my body to him to do with as he wished, he had not taken it. He would accept nothing less than my returning to Vanaheim with him.

I felt trapped. I hated Valdrlund. I hated him with every fiber of my being and yet… I thought of my father. I knew Valdrlund could be cruel—I knew that so well. I thought of the little brother I had never seen and thought it so sad that his well-being depended on what I said now and he might never know it.

But what if Valdrlund was lying to me? I knew he would do that, too. What if my father was not struggling? What if all was well and he was only telling me this to make me come back with him? But then I thought, even if my father was not currently struggling, Valdrlund could still make it difficult for him. He could ruin their lives and it would be my fault and after it was all done, Valdrlund would surely find some way of letting me know that I had done this.

I felt as if I had no choice. Besides, I thought sadly, it was not as if there was anything left for me here in Asgard. Loki had been lost to me, as well.

And then, so softly even I could barely hear it, I murmured, “Yes…”

But Valdrlund had not heard me. He lifted my chin and I stared teary-eyed up at him. He raised his eyebrows inquiringly and I managed to give a little nod.

When he smiled, whatever was left of my heart—if anything—broke.

He leaned forward and planted a gentle kiss on my forehead.

“It will not be like it was before, Stjarnavetr,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to mine. “I am king now. We will be much happier.”

He moved down and kissed me on the lips and I instinctively turned my head, feeling a brief flare of panic in the pit of my stomach, but he did not react. He only reached up and turned my head back towards him. He captured my mouth in a kiss and I closed my eyes, realizing with a pang that there was no escaping this anymore. He would not tolerate my spurning him now.

And so I swallowed my revulsion and hesitantly opened my mouth when I felt his tongue against my lips. He took my face in his hands and kissed me deeply.

When he finally broke away, he said breathlessly, “Come, Stjarnavetr.” He took me by the arm and led me towards his bed and I had to force myself to not wrench away from him. I could feel this biliousness churning in the pit of my stomach, but I tried my best to suppress it. I had no choice, I kept telling myself, there was nothing else now to be done but this…

Valdrlund helped me up onto his bed—it was taller and much larger than Loki’s—and I sat uneasily against his pillows and watched with bated breath as he came in after me, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He leaned down and kissed me again and I tried my best not to stiffen beneath him when I felt him pulling my dress up and running his hand up the inside of my leg.

I turned my head and closed my eyes when he inadvertently caressed the rough skin on my inner thigh where I had scrubbed the sensitive skin until it had bled. It had not yet fully healed. When I slowly opened my eyes, Valdrlund was looking at me with his brows furrowed. He pulled my dress up and spread my legs and ran his fingertips gently over the damaged skin.

“What is this?” he murmured.

I did not reply, but then felt the warmth of his seidr on my skin and felt it healing.

“Do not do this again, Stjarnavetr,” he said, moving to the other leg. His voice was not angry or commanding, but I could detect the faint threat beneath the calm.

I gave a little nod, assenting easily to his command.

And then Valdrlund reached behind me to undo the lacings of my dress. I obediently lifted up on my arms as he pulled at the laces, for I had no right to deny him now. I was his again and he could take it whenever and however he wanted. When my dress was loose, he pushed both it and my shift up and off of me and I sat there in naught but my shoes and stockings. I stared hard at the covers as he quickly took my shoes and stockings off. After he had pushed them off the bed, he leaned down and began kissing the side of my neck.

Valdrlund wrapped an arm around my middle and pulled me down and under him so I was lying on my back and he kneeling still fully clothed between my legs. He moved down to kiss my collarbones and then down further until he pressed his lips to the swell of my breast. I lifted my head up and my breaths came faster, but it was not from pleasure—I was trying my absolute hardest not to cry. I felt Valdrlund smile against my skin; he must have thought that I was enjoying it, but he had never been one to notice or care anyway.

Suddenly he pulled away and began to hastily undress. I turned my head as he did so and soon he was naked and he went to settle on top of me. I tried to relax on the bed, but now I could not for the life of me quell the trembling of my body.

I felt this terrible anticipation, but tried not to think back to a couple of days ago. Valdrlund kissed me on the mouth and lifted his hips and I could feel his fingers there between my legs and I thought then that I could not do it, I could not just lie here and let him do this… and so I thought of Loki. I closed my eyes and imagined that it was Loki on top of me, that it was Loki touching me and kissing me, but Valdrlund did not feel like Loki and he did not smell like him and it was so difficult and I could not fool myself, but I was resolved to do this, I had to do this; I had endured this for nearly a century in Vanaheim and I could endure it again. This was the only way to do it…

And then Valdrlund was at my entrance and still I could not help but to nearly go rigid beneath him. I squeezed my eyes shut and bit my lip as he pushed inside me. I sucked in a breath; it hurt, though it was much, much more bearable than the last time. I lifted my legs to make his entrance easier and it helped a little and though it disgusted me, I proceeded to wrap my legs around his waist. He would not tolerate me lying there like a dead thing, I knew. He kissed me again and I responded as was expected of me. He grabbed a loose fistful of my hair, supported himself above me with his other forearm, and began to slowly move above me. He kissed my neck as he did so, panting his satisfaction into my skin.

I slowly opened my teary eyes and stared up at the ceiling the entire time. When he went to kiss me, I was able to force myself to kiss him back, but it seemed that with every thrust of his hips, a little more of me was lost. I hardened myself to the feeling of him on top of me, attempted to distance myself, and then it eventually came to the point where I did not even feel like crying anymore.

After Valdrlund had spent himself, he rolled off of me and fell onto his back with a satisfied sigh. And I still only stared up at the ceiling, silent and unmoving.

Valdrlund turned onto his side and propped his head up on his arm.

“I am slated to leave Asgard sometime next week,” he said, reaching over to draw curling patterns on my abdomen with his finger. “Everything should be in order by then. I will try my best to speak to the queen tomorrow, but you should go ahead and ready yourself. You need not take much. I will have a new wardrobe made for you upon our return and I will give you larger rooms closer to my own chambers. Would you like that, love?”

“Yes,” I whispered absently.

Valdrlund smiled and wrapped his arm around me and pulled me over to him. I did my best not to stiffen and managed somehow to relax in his arms. He lightly kissed me on the lips and murmured, “How I have missed you, Stjarnavetr. None of those others ever compared to you.”

He then pressed his nose and lips to my cheek and kissed me again, but I remained impassive.

All I could think of was how dying in Midgard would have been a much more preferable fate than this.


	42. Part I - Chapter 42

Stjarnavetr

The next morning, I awoke naked in Valdrlund’s bed. I was lying as close to the edge as possible and curled up, his sheets wrapped tightly around me. He lay behind me on his back, arms and legs thrown out, and was snoring.

I lay there staring vacantly into the fireplace across the room. The fire had died long ago, but still I studied the ashy and blackened logs. It was something else to focus on instead of his presence behind me, the feel of his seed—a dirty reminder of what had occurred the night previous—dried between my legs. I tried not to remember how he had taken me once more during the night, tried not to think on how it felt as if I had never left Vanaheim.

Valdrlund had gotten irritated with me the night before when I had simply laid there under him. After he had said something, I had tried to act as if I wanted it. I had draped my arms around the back of his neck and pressed up against him and tried to imagine myself anywhere but beneath him, but it had not worked at it had taken nearly every ounce of my will to finish with him.

But I would soon once again grow used to Valdrlund. I would be able to push it all down and act as if I wanted this and as if I was not dead on the inside. It would be as it always had been; he would call me to him when he wanted me, inevitably scream at me and hit me and it would be as if we had never been apart.

And where the night before I had felt hate for Valdrlund, strangely I felt nothing now. Not anger or loathing, but only this dull ache sitting heavy in my body. It was almost like there was nothing left inside me to feel.

Suddenly, Valdrlund let out a soft groan and shifted behind me. I felt him roll over and I slowly closed my eyes when he kissed the back of my bare shoulder. He wrapped an arm around my middle and pulled me close to him.

“I love you, Stjarnavetr,” he murmured into my skin.

And as he began kissing me, I opened my eyes and wondered if things would have been different if Loki had loved me. Would he have lain with all those women if he had loved me? Would I be here in Valdrlund’s arms and in his bed if Loki had loved me?

But long before we had begun lying together, had I not known that this would eventually happen? That Loki would betray me like that? What a fool I had been to think that he had truly cared for me. What a fool I had been to think that he might feel anything but desire for me, but that was laughable now. No matter how kind he had been to me, no matter how well he had treated me these past years, he had still betrayed me utterly. It made no difference that he had begged my forgiveness for his actions and his words to me—I would never forget them.

I would have despaired again, thinking on how long he had lied to me, how completely he had lowered me, but it was all past now. I was not in Loki’s bed anymore and yet was already warming another man’s. Despite how Loki had hurt me, he was right. I was nothing more than a royal whore and that was all I would ever be.

But even after all he had done to me, I could not help but to imagine Loki lying next to me instead of Valdrlund. I closed my eyes and imagined him kissing me and telling me about how much he enjoyed having me here with him. I imagined him comforting me and telling me that everything would be alright.

I knew it would not be, though. I could not fool myself into thinking that everything would be alright and as I lay there thinking of Loki, I began to grow angry. I suppose that some part of me blamed Loki for all of this.

If he had not lain with all those women, I might still be lying in his bed and it would be him holding me and whispering to me of his affections. If he had not reduced me to naught but a whore and made clear his true thoughts on me, then I would not be here—Valdrlund’s royal whore again. Valdrlund would not have been able to get to me that night of the banquet and I would not be going back to Vanaheim and everything might still be alright.

But nothing was alright anymore.

Loki did not love me and he never had and he never would.

He had betrayed me and left me to this fate.

While I did not hate Valdrlund—I felt nothing anymore, it seemed—I hated Loki with every fiber of my being. Though it pained me, I remembered back to when I had been crying for Loki that night when Valdrlund had come to me. I had been internally begging him, renouncing my hate for him, hoping he might come and save me, but it all seemed so useless and far away now. I despised him for what he had done to me and yet at the same time despaired that it had come to this.

But it was not as if any of it mattered anymore.

It was too late.

Now Valdrlund began tugging at me until I rolled onto my back. I looked up at him indifferently, but he lowered his face and kissed me on the mouth. He was smiling when he pulled back.

“Good morning, my love,” he murmured.

I could not yet manage a smile, but he did not notice or care. He rolled onto his back and stretched and I continued to stare up in silence. Before getting up a few minutes later, he leaned down to plant another quick kiss on my lips.

He called for our breakfast to be delivered to his chambers and I got out of the bed and quickly dressed. Once the servants had laid out our breakfast and departed, Valdrlund and I seated ourselves at his large table.

As Valdrlund began piling food onto his plate, he said, “I must meet with the Allfather today. Yet again. All this diplomatic nonsense… Father left quite a mess.”

“Did he?” I remarked blandly, pushing my own food disinterestedly around on my plate. I truly did not care at the moment what kind of mess Aldregimildr had left, but needed to act as if I was listening to him.

But apparently Valdrlund did not seem too fascinated in his own topic because he changed subjects. “I will speak to Queen Frigga today about your departure.”

I only nodded and Valdrlund then continued to talk to me and none of it interested me, but I pretended to listen.

Finally, Valdrlund pushed his plate away and sighed. “I am going to take my midday meal here, as well. I would like you to join me.”

“Yes, Valdrlund.”

He stood up and came around the table to me. I obediently lifted my face so he could kiss me and as he pulled away, he said, “I am going to prepare for the day now. You may leave me.”

I rose and went to leave and right before I opened his door, Valdrlund called, “And do not look so dour when you come back, Stjarnavetr. You are much prettier when you smile.”

I made my way to my chambers and once there immediately drew a bath and plunged myself into the water. Though I wanted to once again scrub myself raw, I was careful not to. I knew Valdrlund would not like it, for he disliked telling me things more than once.

After I had bathed, I dried myself off and dressed.

I did not go to the queen’s chambers afterwards, but instead did as Valdrlund had ordered. I spent the rest of the morning gathering my things in preparation for returning to Vanaheim.

I did not have much, even after nearly fifteen years of living here in Asgard.

All of my clothing would be left behind, for Valdrlund had said he would provide me with a new wardrobe upon our return—he would have me looking Asgardian no longer. I dreaded it. I had always favored more modest gowns, but Valdrlund liked me to dress a certain way and it was not modestly. That was one thing I had been appreciative of with Loki; in all our time together, he had never told me how to dress. Part of it had been that he had always thought me beautiful no matter what I wore—at least that was what he had told me when I had mentioned it.

But I quickly pushed that thought away and went to my dressing table. I pulled out my jewelry boxes—I had three—all large things that Loki had gifted to me to hold all of his other gifts. I opened up the lid of one and looked inside. Loki had given me nearly every piece. Even if I had wanted to take some of it, Valdrlund would not have allowed me to wear any of it in knowing that they were gifts from Loki.

And yet I sat down and lifted each individual piece out, trying to remember when Loki had given it to me. Eventually, out of the bottom of one of the boxes I pulled a simple leather bracelet. I stared at it, recalling how Loki had bought it for me when we had gone to Midgard about a decade ago. I remembered that I had seen it in a market and liked it and he had gotten it for me in spite of my protests. I had worn it while we were in Midgard, but had put it away and never worn it again upon returning to Asgard.

I stared at it for a long time and ran my fingers over the supple leather, but eventually set it in the pile of things to be discarded. I had other pieces that I would give to some of the other girls, for I did not wish to simply throw it all away.

After I had sorted through all of my jewelry, I went up to my bookcase. I had always loved reading and had had quite a collection of books in Vanaheim, but I am sure that they had been lost or thrown away after my exile. And so here in Asgard I had slowly accumulated another little collection, all once again courtesy of Loki.

Though nearly all of my books had been gifts from Loki, I did not want to leave any of them behind. I reached out and stroked the spine of one of the books with my fingertip and thought that despite my hate for Loki, there was a traitorous little part of me that wished to retain some fragment of him.

In spite of all that he had done to me, I sadly remembered how excited Loki would get when he presented me with something, whether it be a new scent or some book he had had bound for me.

But I tried not to think of Loki anymore as I began to carefully take my books down. I laid them on my table and sorted through them and decided that I would later put them into a chest. In looking around my chambers, I supposed that a chestful of books would be one of the only things I would take back to Vanaheim.

Too soon it came time for the midday meal. I made my way stoically back to Valdrlund’s chambers, feeling somewhat disheartened. He was already there, sitting at his table while servants placed food on the table.

“Stjarnavetr,” he smiled. “Sit.”

I sat across from him and waited in silence until the servants had finished laying out the food and left and the doors were closed behind them.

Before Valdrlund could say anything, I said, “I have begun preparing to leave. I will not take much else but a chestful of books.”

Valdrlund laughed as he reached for the flagon of wine near his hand. “That is fine.” As he poured his cup, he looked up at me and smiled. “You and your books, love. I never did understand why you liked spending so much time in the royal library. I tried to get you outside more, but you were never much interested in the idea.”

I looked down at my empty plate and then resignedly reached to put food on it. Back in Vanaheim, I had not felt comfortable among the other ladies. I had much preferred to spend time by myself whenever Valdrlund was not around. It was not that I disliked being outside; I had often walked the palace grounds by myself or more usually found solace among the shelves of the library.

“I was finally able to speak with the queen this morning about your returning to Vanaheim with me.”

Now I looked up at him. “What did she say?”

“She is sad to see you go, of course. I told her you missed your family and would be happy to see them again.”

I am sure it had sounded convincing enough. Valdrlund was exceedingly talented at sounding sincere, anyway.

“I am quite ready to leave Asgard,” Valdrlund remarked after he had taken a large draught of wine.

“Why?” I asked, though in truth I did not care.

“I have enjoyed my time here, but I am ready to go home. The Allfather has been pestering me and I grow tired of it. Now I know why Father did not much care for him.”

“Pestering you?”

“Yes.” Valdrlund shook his head in derision. “The Allfather wants something from me.”

“What does he want?” I questioned.

Valdrlund paused. “It is… a relic from the war. An Asgardian relic captured by Vanir forces and held in Vanaheim ever since. The Allfather desperately wants it back.”

“What is it?” I asked. I was not sure I had ever heard of this Asgardian relic kept in Vanaheim.

Valdrlund only smiled knowingly at me. He was not going to say.

“Are you going to give it back to him?” I inquired, now genuinely interested.

Valdrlund’s smile grew. “But what would he give me in return?”

I did not know what might be given in return, so I ventured, “Peace?”

Valdrlund snorted in what sounded like amusement. “It is hardly that simple, Stjarnavetr. No. In truth, the Allfather possesses nothing I want. I am not inclined to simply give it back. Father felt the same as well. I am sure the Allfather was quite thrilled when Father died, for he probably thought me some blithering idiot and that I would so easily hand it over.”

When I looked down at my plate, Valdrlund chuckled.

“But surely this talk bores you, Stjarnavetr. Let us talk of Vanaheim.”

And so Valdrlund spoke to me of how things had changed since he had become king, how excited he was to be bringing me home. I, however, did not share in his enthusiasm. No matter what he said, I knew it would be the same, but I nodded when he voiced an opinion and agreed with him when he commented on something odd he had seen in Asgard as compared to Vanaheim.

When Valdrlund at last finished eating, he said, “I must go now, love. More appointments. You attend to Queen Frigga after the afternoon feast, do you not?”

“Yes.” I had not these past days, for I had not been to the great hall, but now I assumed he wanted me there tonight.

“After you are finished attending to her, come to my chambers. I would spend the night with you again.”

I nodded and he inclined his head, indicating that I was to leave.

I returned to my rooms and sifted through some of my other belongings. At most I would only take two chests and one would be filled entirely with books. I sat on my bed and looked at everything I had already been through and thought it sad that my existence here in Asgard could be reduced to only two chests.

Soon it came time for dinner and I went to the great hall, though I truly did not wish to. The other handmaidens expressed happiness that I was feeling better, but I barely spoke and I did not feel much like eating or drinking. As the others around me laughed and joked, I wondered how I would tell them goodbye—most especially Gullhár. I loved Gullhár. She had been a good friend to me and as I thought on it, I began to sink even deeper into this state of melancholy.

When the feast finally ended, I accompanied the other handmaidens to the queen’s chambers. However, as opposed to our usual nightly routine, the queen dismissed every single handmaiden except for me early. The queen seemed rather stoic and Gullhár and some of the others threw me questioning looks as they all filed out. Once the doors were shut behind the last handmaiden, the queen directed me to sit in front of her fireplace.

I did so, already knowing what this was about.

Queen Frigga took her seat across from me and I remembered suddenly when we had sat here over ten years ago after I had first come from Vanaheim.

“I’ve not seen you in a couple of days, Lady Stjarnavetr,” the queen observed.

“I have been feeling ill as of late, Your Majesty. I apologize.”

But she did not address my supposed illness. She probably did not believe me. She said immediately, “King Valdrlund came to me this morning and told me that you are going back to Vanaheim with him. Is this true?”

“Yes,” I replied quietly, going to unconsciously pick at my fingers in my lap.

“Would you mind if I asked why you are returning to Vanaheim?”

I was silent for a long time. I looked down at my lap, debating on what to say. Finally, I glanced back up at her and said softly, “There is nothing left for me here.”

She leaned forward and slightly creased her brows. She sounded concerned. “What do you mean?”

But I did not answer her. Though my words were bold, my voice was not; I swallowed and very nearly whispered, “I know why you brought me here, Your Majesty. I know why you took me in.”

She only looked slightly confused at the sudden change in topic.

“You needed somebody for Loki, did you not? A mistress?”

It was not as if it had been some great secret. The handmaidens had told me of their suspicions not even a week into my being amongst them.

The queen looked shocked at my statement, but she did not deny it. She quickly composed herself and explained, “You were hurt when you came here, Stjarnavetr. King Valdrlund insisted that I take you into my retinue and I just so happened to also at that time need a new seidr tutor for Loki. If he happened to find you appealing, then so be it.”

“But why?” I asked desperately, leaning forward in my chair. Though it was inappropriate and perhaps none of my business, I wished to know why she had done this. “Why me? Why not one of the others? What could I give to him that none of the others could? Why did you choose me?”

I could discern how the queen slightly stiffened and I knew I had gone too far.

“Some things are better left unsaid, Stjarnavetr,” she retorted, effectively ending it there. Her voice was flat and I was not sure I had ever heard her speak so. At least not to me.

I looked back down at my fingers, not understanding. Had there been another reason for the queen wanting Loki to take me as his mistress? But whatever it was, she had succeeded. As Loki had once so aptly described, she had taken me in and dangled me in front of him like a sweetmeat and he had been all too willing to take a bite.

It made me feel low, for it seemed that nearly all my life I had been used in some way or another. Valdrlund had used me for his own pleasure all that century; the queen had used me for her son and had been successful and Loki had used me nearly the same as Valdrlund. But despite the queen’s ulterior motives for taking me in, I would always in some way be grateful to her. It was she who had taken me in from Vanaheim, she who had given me a home here, she who had always been so kind to me. If it was not for her, I certainly would have died. And despite how slipping into a permanent unconsciousness seemed so appealing, I knew that saving somebody from death earned one some degree of appreciation.

“Well,” I finally whispered, “I became what you wanted. I think… I think I pleased him most of the time.”

Though I knew it was highly inappropriate for me to speak to her so, especially about my and her son’s relations, I simply did not care anymore. She had orchestrated all of it and so I thought deserved to hear about what her scheming had ultimately led to.

“But then he hurt me. He lay with Freyja… and many others.” Now I slowly looked up at her. “But I am sure you knew that already.”

Queen Frigga merely looked at me, silent and unmoving. The other handmaidens had told me long ago that she knew when Loki lay with a woman, be it one of her own women or a lowly servant. She had to have known that he was betraying me all this time.

“And I am sure you have known for a while now, Your Majesty, that Loki and I are no longer together. And it is because of this that I am returning to Vanaheim. As I said before, I simply do not feel that there is anything left for me here.”

I could not read her expression.

“I will get to see my family again,” I added, remembering that Valdrlund said he had mentioned that to her. “I have not seen my father in so long. I shall be glad to see him again.”

She gave a little nod, but otherwise still did not say anything. I was not sure if she believed me and I wondered if I had offended her with my words. I knew I had spoken to her both out of turn and rather tastelessly, but I truly could not be bothered to care. I think some part of me had wanted to say that for a long time.

“But I want you to know, Your Majesty, that I will always be grateful to you. You saved me and I… I was, for the most part, very happy here.”

Now she finally spoke. “Then why do you leave us?”

I could not very well tell her it was because Valdrlund had threatened my father and his family. What could she possibly do about it? And so all I said was, “I have to go back.”

She looked at me for a long time and it felt as if she was studying me. I began to grow uncomfortable before she finally inclined her head towards me. “Then I give you my permission to leave. I release you from my service.”

I gave a little nod and went to stand up, feeling the tears prickling in my eyes. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” I murmured, endeavoring to keep my voice from breaking.

Queen Frigga rose up out of her chair and came to me and much to my surprise, embraced me. I was frozen for a moment, but then seemed to melt into her arms. For some reason, the queen in that moment reminded me of my mother and I squeezed my eyes shut and urged myself not to cry. After a long moment, the she turned her face and kissed my cheek.

She whispered, “I am so glad you came here, Stjarnavetr. You brought us much joy. And Loki… he was so very happy with you. Thank you.”

I nodded in acknowledgment, but did not say anything. I did not want to think of Loki in that moment and almost did not want her to let me go because I knew I would have to go back to Valdrlund. I felt so at peace in her arms, but then reluctantly broke the embrace and took a hesitant step back.

I bowed to her before turning to leave, but before I could get very far, the queen stopped me. “Stjarnavetr?”

I turned back around, my eyes shiny with tears. “Yes, Your Majesty?”

She tilted her head slightly and she sounded almost mournful. “Do you love him?”

For a brief moment, I thought she was asking if I loved Valdrlund. But that was foolish; I quickly realized she was asking if I loved her son. I swallowed and looked down at my now clasped hands.

I thought about how Loki had never told me that he loved me. He had told me many times that he cared for me, though it was only once after his infidelities had come to light, only once he was threatened with losing me, that he had lowered himself to admit that he wanted only me, that he had never felt for anybody else as he felt for me. But he did not love me, I knew, so why would he tell me that? How could he possibly love me and have treated me the way he did?

Oh, but I had loved him, there was no doubt. I would have done anything for him. But now…

“I did,” I whispered. And then I looked back up at her. “But I do not anymore.”

And with that, I turned and left her alone.

__

Valdrlund wanted to know why I was late in coming to his chambers.

“The queen wished to speak with me,” I explained.

Valdrlund was sitting at his table. There were piles of papers spread out over the top and even a few maps that I could see. I sat in the chair opposite of him when he motioned for me to sit with him.

“What did she want?” he asked, reaching for a cup of wine near his hand.

“She… only wished to tell me goodbye. She released me from her service.”

Valdrlund looked up at me. “Good. Was there anything else?”

“No,” I answered listlessly, letting my gaze wander off to the side.

I could feel him looking at me and I knew he likely did not believe me, but he miraculously did not pursue it.

“The queen very much likes you,” he remarked after he took a drink of wine. “She told me that you had been very useful to her as a handmaiden.”

I tried to dissect what that meant. Had she meant that my stories had amused her or that I had done a satisfactory enough job as her son’s whore?

“Is she sad to see you go?” Valdrlund inquired.

“I am sure she is,” I replied, somewhat indifferently.

“Well, I am glad to have you all to myself again, Stjarnavetr. It has been far too long.” Valdrlund pushed his chair back and came around the table to me and I lifted my face so he could reach my lips. After he had kissed me, he said, “She will find a new handmaiden soon enough. There is no shortage of young women in Asgard who can sew, I am sure.”

“Yes,” I agreed.

Valdrlund took my hands in his and helped me up out of the chair. He inclined his head towards the papers on the table and said, “This bores me. Let us retire.”

He pulled me towards his bed and began to undress and I turned away and began to also shed my clothes. Once I was naked, I climbed up into his bed and beneath the covers and waited for him. It took him a little longer than me to undress, but soon he was climbing into the bed with me. I lay back and dutifully spread my legs for him. After he was inside me and had been moving above me for a while, he grabbed my hips and rolled us over, pulling me on top of him. I paused for a moment to catch my breath, feeling reluctance, but then resignedly began moving on top of him as I knew he liked. As he dug his nails into my hips and began panting, I thought it almost sad at how quickly and how easily I had fallen back into our old routine.


	43. Part I - Chapter 43

Stjarnavetr

I did not go to the queen’s chambers the next morning. Since she had released me from her service, I was no longer obligated to attend to her. Besides, I did not think myself prepared to bid farewell to the other women yet—I knew they would undoubtedly cry and I would also probably begin crying—and so instead decided to visit Hirdakyn, for he did not seem like the type who would burst into weeping.

After Valdrlund and I had eaten breakfast together and he had left to meet privately with the Allfather, I made my way to the archives. As I walked, I wondered how I could possibly say goodbye to Hirdakyn. Though he was one of the more eccentric characters I had met here in Asgard, he was a good friend of mine and I would miss him terribly.

Once I arrived at the archives, I pushed open the doors and began to wander aimlessly. I knew I would come across Hirdakyn sooner or later and when I finally found him, he was hunched over a table combing through a worn book.

“Hirdakyn,” I said.

Hirdakyn glanced up at me and grinned. I smiled back at him.

“Lady!” he exclaimed. “You have not come to see me in such a long time!”

I managed to laugh, for it had only been a few weeks since I had come to visit him.

I sat down next to him at the table and asked, “What are you doing?”

“Research,” he answered, turning his attention back to the book. He was not ignoring me, but it was simply his way. I took no offense and we sat there in silence for a little while longer.

I had felt bad for Hirdakyn, for when Loki and I had separated, we stopped coming to visit him together. Hirdakyn did not concern himself with things of that nature, but he had expressed disappointment that Loki and I were no longer together since it meant we would only visit him separately now. He had very much enjoyed our shared company.

“Hirdakyn,” I finally said. “I have come to tell you something.”

He did not look at me, but continued to pore over his book.

I paused, reluctant now to say it. “I… I have come to say goodbye.”

Hirdakyn glanced up at me and drew his eyebrows together in confusion. “Goodbye?”

I nodded. “Yes. I am a Vana, you know, and I am going back to Vanaheim soon.”

“How wonderful!” Hirdakyn beamed. “You are going back to your home!”

“Yes,” I tried to smile.

“I am glad for you,” Hirdakyn remarked, “though I shall miss your visits, Lady.”

“And I shall miss you as well, Hirdakyn.”

Just then, I heard footsteps. I turned around in my chair to see just as Loki rounded the corner of a large bookcase.

“Hirdakyn, I could not find that book that you—”

Loki stopped when he saw me and I instantly felt exasperation. Why was it that he always seemed to turn up when I least wanted him around? Why had Hirdakyn not told me he was conducting research with Loki? If I had known that, I probably would have immediately left and returned another time.

“Stjarna,” Loki said in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

I stood up, ready to lie, for I did not wish Loki to know in this moment that I was leaving Asgard. I knew he would be angry and so had hoped he might find out later when I was not around, but before I could open my mouth to speak, Hirdakyn replied, “The Lady has come to tell me goodbye.”

I nearly froze, wishing desperately that Hirdakyn had not just said that.

“Goodbye?” Loki whispered, his eyes flickering to mine. I could not help it; I quickly looked away and off to the side.

“Yes,” Hirdakyn answered promptly. “The Lady is returning to her home realm of Vanaheim.”

There was a dreadful silence.

My heart dropped when Loki said quietly, dangerously, “She is what?”

I took a small breath, feeling my stomach twist in nervousness. I finally allowed myself to look at Loki, who was staring hard at me.

I said weakly, “I am returning to Vanaheim. Next week.”

He almost appeared incredulous, but I saw how his body stiffened.

“You’re going back?” he breathed.

“Yes,” I replied, my voice much quieter than before.

“With him?” he pressed. I could tell he was attempting to not grit his teeth.

“Yes.”

And then without breaking eye contact with me, he very nearly growled, “Hirdakyn. Leave.”

Hirdakyn did not question it, for he must have sensed Loki’s broiling anger; he gave a quick bow, snatched his book off the table, and hurriedly scampered from sight. I swallowed as Loki slowly walked towards me and stared down at me.

Though his voice was soft, I could detect the anger brimming beneath the calm. “What do you think you’re doing?”

I shook my head and took a step back. I did not want to speak to Loki about this. As I went to walk away, I said, “It is none of your concern—”

Before I could even get a step, though, Loki grabbed me by the arm, spun me around, and pushed me up against the nearest bookcase. I gasped in surprise and glanced up at him; he looked absolutely livid.

“You are going back to Vanaheim with him,” he stated, though it was not a question. “Why?”

But I remained silent. I did not want to do this with him, for Loki had no part in my life anymore.

“Answer me!” he snapped.

Though he was still gripping my arm, I drew myself up. “I do not need to explain myself to you,” I said heatedly, though my voice trembled. “Let go of me.”

Much to my surprise Loki released me, but he was still standing so close that I could not move away from him. But then again, I doubted he would let me leave so easily.

“You will tell me,” he uttered, leaning forward, “why you are going back with him.”

“I will not!” I nearly shouted, though Loki did not flinch in the slightest. “You cannot understand, Loki. You have never understood anything but yourself and what ultimately you desire. You cannot understand why I am doing this.”

“You’re right,” he said darkly, incensed by my words. “I do not understand. I do not understand how you can willingly go back with him after he abused you for so long and then murdered your unborn child.”

I stared up at him, lips parted in surprise. I did not know how to respond to him, for he spoke the truth, but I could not possibly tell him that Valdrlund had threatened my father and his family. I knew Loki could not do anything for me and it would only make him angrier and subsequently make things worse for me and my father.

“Will you explain that to me, Stjarna?” he demanded when I remained silent.

Now I gave a little shake of my head and looked down and to the side, tears springing to my eyes. I felt such anger at him. I wanted to shove him away and perhaps to scream at him, but I did not know what I would even rage about. I wondered how could I feel so empty and yet have all these emotions fulminating inside of me. I wanted to cry and I wanted to scream, but I also just wished to be left in peace.

When still I did not say anything, Loki reached up to take my chin in his fingers. He was trying to get me to look at him, but I pushed his arm away. My eyes flickered up to his in what I hoped was defiance and I said bitterly, “I am not your mistress anymore. Do not touch me.”

Loki suddenly raised his arm and went to rake his fingers through his hair in exasperation, but for a brief moment, I thought of Valdrlund raising his hand to strike me and I instinctively flinched against the bookcase. As soon as I did so, Loki looked at me oddly and my heart fell when I saw his eyes narrow.

“Has he hit you?” he asked immediately, sounding outraged.

“Loki, stop it—”

“He hit you, didn’t he?” Loki irately concluded.

I began to shake my head again, trying to hold back the tears I could feel ready to spill over. “It doesn’t matter, I am still going back—”

“What, are you his mistress now?” he demanded, his tone derisive.

I opened my mouth to furiously retort, but then stopped. It was the truth.

“Yes,” I whispered.

Loki froze. He stared down at me no longer in anger, but in what almost appeared to be this hurt disbelief. Despite how I had convinced myself of my hate for him the night before, for some reason his expression pained me and I lowered my head, unable to hold his gaze.

And then Loki asked softly, sounding as if he truly did not wish to receive an answer, “Have you lain with him?”

I did not look at him, for I could not bear to see. I gave a little nod and I heard him let out a breath as he took a step back and away from me.

“Why?”

And I heard all of his hurt—something I had before thought him incapable of feeling—and all of his disbelief and all of his confusion in that one syllable.

Finally, I allowed my gaze to drift upwards. I had thought that he would grow angry at me for lying with another man, but I saw nothing in his face but misery and it unexpectedly saddened me, but I hardened myself against it. I reminded myself of everything he had done to me, how he had hurt me, and said softly, “Because I hate you, Loki. I hate you for everything you have done to me and I don’t… I just don’t want to be here anymore. I want to leave, I want to go back home.”

Though that was only in part the truth, I still think I would have rather stayed here and been unhappy than returned to Vanaheim to become Valdrlund’s mistress again.

I could tell Loki attempted to not react to my second admission of hatred for him. Instead he protested weakly, “But Asgard is your home.”

“No, it is not,” I retorted quietly, endeavoring to keep my voice steady.

Loki looked down at the floor and then back up at me. “Stjarna, I know that I have done you wrong, but you cannot… you cannot go back to him. Not after what he did to you…”

My voice was small. “I have to.”

Loki was quiet for a long moment before he said, his voice stronger now as if he had just realized something, “Is he forcing you to go back?”

But I did not respond. I wanted to be gone from here already. I wished I had waited until later to come here to bid farewell to Hirdakyn.

Loki took a step towards me and I could tell he was becoming heated again. “Is he?” he urged. “Did he threaten you? What did he do?”

My lips began to tremble and now my voice was choked with tears, but I shook my head. “It does not matter. I am going back with him. It is over.”

“Stjarna, look at me,” he demanded when my eyes began to wander off to the side. His voice was dark. “You are not going back to Vanaheim.”

I stared up at him and then whispered, “It is too late. The queen has already released me from her service, there is nothing more to be done.”

Loki gazed at me for a long time and I feared he might start screaming, but then to my surprise he wordlessly turned on his heel and stormed away. I slowly relaxed against the bookcase as I heard his fading footsteps and then a moment later the faraway sound of the door to the archives opening and then slamming shut.

I went to the table and collapsed unhappily into the chair, my legs weak, and hung my head in my hands.

__

Loki

I could hardly believe it, but it was happening.

She was leaving Asgard and going back to Vanaheim with him. Never would I have thought that she would go back to him, but no… I could not believe that she was going back willingly. No matter what she said about hating me, I knew she detested Valdrlund even more. He had been so cruel to her and I simply did not believe that she would go back with him of her own volition. It was not possible—he had to have been forcing her to go back somehow and she would not tell me and that infuriated me.

My anger burned even hotter when I recalled how she had flinched from me when I had raised my hand in the archives. I had immediately known what that meant, for Stjarna had never before acted like that around me. She had only been acting oddly since that damned Van had come and it had been obvious that he had hit her. Why else would she have flinched so when I raised my hand? When I had demanded to know if he had struck her, she had tried to avoid and dismiss the question, which had only confirmed it for me.

I had grown irate at the thought of him daring to lay a hand on her, but then all else was nearly forgotten when she admitted to having lain with him. It was as if all the breath had left my lungs and I could not breathe. All of my anger had seemingly drained away and I had only been able to stare at her in this sort of shocked silence.

I had almost been unbelieving, wondering how she could possibly lower herself to do this, and could only hope it was not true, that she had not really lain with him. It was not anger I had felt, but this overwhelming sense of helplessness. In that moment, everything had, once again, come crashing down around me.

It was as if before, I still thought there might be some hope for us, that no matter how Stjarna said she hated me, no matter how contemptibly she looked at me, there was still a chance we might return to how we had been before. But no longer. It truly was over—she was his again, completely, and I daresay it killed me.

I had only been able to ask why and then she had made it sound as if it was my fault all of this had happened, but I had not leapt to defend myself, for I had felt guilty enough already. Once again, she had expressed her hatred for me and gods, how it had pained me to think that Stjarna could feel such loathing for me. To think that once she had looked at me with such love, such sweet words she had once whispered to me, and now her gaze for me held nothing but enmity, her words nothing but detestation. I knew I had wronged her, I knew I had hurt her, I knew I deserved her hatred and her anger, and yet still I could hardly believe that it had truly come to this.

But then she had said that she had to leave and I knew she could not have actually wanted to go back to him. It was then when I had realized she could not be going freely, but she would not admit it, she would not admit to me that he was forcing her to go, and she instead said it was too late and that Mother had already released her from her service.

And that was where I was headed now.

If Stjarna would not listen to me and would not help herself, then I would force somebody else to do it for her.

I soon came upon Mother’s chambers and entered in a rage.

I saw that she was sitting with a small group of her women, playing cards. She looked up at me, but her smile quickly fell when she saw my surely thunderous expression.

“Get out!” I shouted, directing my fury towards all of her women. Most of them flinched in shock and some began to rise, looking unsure, but others still only stared at me, mouths hanging open at my outburst. Now I screamed it. “Get out!”

That seemed to work. They all rose then, not even looking towards their queen for further instructions; they quickly filed out, throwing worried and frightened glances in my direction. I stood there, breathing hard, wishing they would hurry the fuck up.

At last, the door shut behind the last one and I turned on my mother.

By now, she had risen up out of her chair and was staring at me coolly, hands clasped serenely in front of her. I stalked up to her, fuming.

“Is something wrong, Loki?” she inquired, keeping her voice maddeningly calm and her face like stone.

“You know damn well what is wrong,” I growled. “You cannot let her go. Why are you letting this happen?”

“It is not my decision,” she replied evenly. “It is Stjarnavetr’s.”

“Is it?” I snapped. “Is it her decision?”

“Loki—”

“You know how he is,” I said darkly. “Do not pretend as if you do not know.”

I knew she had heard the talk before, long ago just as I had, of how the prince of Vanaheim had treated his mistress.

“You know what was done to her, yes?” I demanded. “When she first came here? I’m sure you saw her.”

Now her expression was sorrowful.

Stjarna had never told me the details of her last days in Vanaheim, only that she had been forced to miscarry her child and that she had been kept in a cell for two days afterwards. I had not pressed her, knowing it must have been some sort of grisly scene, and almost had not wished to know what she had been through, for surely it had been horrific for her and I had not wanted to make her recount everything to me.

But Mother had seen Stjarna after it all, I knew, and I could not understand how she could allow Stjarna to go back to him.

I leaned towards Mother and said furiously, “It was him who did that to her. Did you know that? It was him who did that to her!”

She gave a little shake of her head and her voice was softer. “I have suspected that it is not entirely Stjarnavetr’s decision to return—”

“Of course it fucking isn’t!” I yelled, turning away to begin furiously pacing.

“Loki,” she reproached. “There is nothing I can do. I—”

“What?” I cried, turning on my heel to face her once again. My entire body was shaking I was so angry and she could see it. I could not remember the last time I had spoken so disrespectfully to her and I could tell she did not like it, but she was making no visible effort to pacify me. Her words—her irritating passivity—were only succeeding in further vexing me.

“But she will not stay for me,” I shouted. “She says she hates me, she will not listen to me, but she cannot go—”

“Loki,” she stressed. “I do not want Stjarnavetr to leave, either, but you must understand that there is nothing I can do. Besides, Valdrlund is king and Stjarnavetr is of the Vanir—”

“No, no,” I said, wanting to scream again. “She is a citizen of Asgard! She is your ward, is she not?” But no… Mother had released Stjarna from her service and she was still being so calm and I wanted to explode in anger. I screamed, “Do not just sit there! Do something, damn it!”

But Mother did not flinch at my outburst; if anything, she became even stonier. She gazed levelly at me and only said, “There is nothing to be done, Loki. You cannot force her to stay.”

“But she will not stay for me,” I repeated, my voice much softer now. I closed my eyes and hung my head, realizing the awful truth of it. Mother was right—I could not force Stjarna to stay and neither could she. That damnable Van was forcing her to go somehow, but she would not tell me why. But of course she would not admit it to me, why would she do that? She hated me, she said…

And then I looked up, feeling a small spark of hope. “Can Father do something?”

Mother looked hesitant and then answered, “I have already spoken to him of this matter, Loki. He says it is not our concern—”

“And so he will do nothing?” I interrupted.

Mother shook her head, but looked unsure. “It did not seem like it, but I know not…”

“But would he do it for me?” I asked desperately, clinging onto any hope that I might be able to keep Stjarna here. “Would he make her stay for me?”

When Mother looked skeptical, I turned away from her and went to her doors. I did not care, I had to speak to Father, I would get down on my knees and beg him if I had to.

“He is in a private meeting with King Valdrlund now,” Mother warned. “You will not be allowed admittance—”

But I was gone before she could finish.

I made my way determinedly towards Father’s chambers. I was in a state; on one hand I was positively furious, but on the other I was nearly frantic—not an emotion I was used to feeling. But the thought of that Van bastard taking Stjarna away from Asgard and away from me infuriated me. I knew he was forcing her to go, I knew she would not have gone back with him willingly, but if I could get Father to keep her here, it wouldn’t matter, everything would be alright. I knew he could do it. He was Stjarna’s king now and he could force her to stay, no matter her reluctance or Valdrlund’s insistence.

I soon came to Father’s doors and demanded to the two Einherjar standing guard outside that they open the doors for me.

But one said, “I am sorry, Your Highness, but the Allfather is in a meeting with King Valdrlund and did not wish to be disturbed.”

“I care not,” I snapped. “Open the doors.”

When the guard looked reluctant, I took a large and intimidating step towards him.

“Open the doors. Now.”

The Einheri still appeared hesitant, but then glanced at his partner. I would have grabbed him by the throat, but lucky for him he gave a little nod and went to push the doors open.

I brushed past the anxious guards and went immediately into Father’s receiving chamber. He was sitting at his large table and Valdrlund was there as well. There were refreshments and plates of food situated between them, but Valdrlund was the only one who was eating.

Father looked up at me as soon as I entered and I gritted my teeth in annoyance when his expression turned to one of exasperation. Valdrlund turned to look to see who had barged in and he raised his eyebrows in what looked like amusement. I felt a bloom of anger in my chest at merely the sight of him, but tried to tamp it down.

Father said, “Loki, what—”

“I would speak with you,” I interjected. Normally I would not have spoken so discourteously to him, for he was the king, but I was incredibly agitated. I glanced once more at Valdrlund and immediately imagined him standing over Stjarna and hitting her, pictured him taking her to his bed, and the very thought of that made my blood boil. I would not have minded to slice his neck wide open with my dagger and watch as his blood pooled at my feet.

Father rose up out of his chair now and looked at me warningly. “I am meeting with King Valdrlund. I am sure whatever it is, it can wait. Now, if—”

“It cannot wait,” I insisted, taking a step forward.

Father glared at me and then lowered his head and sighed. He looked at Valdrlund.

“I do apologize, my friend. We will only be a moment.”

Valdrlund nodded in seeming understanding and Father began walking towards his bedchamber. I quickly followed him, feeling and hating Valdrlund’s stare on me. Father went through the doors and I hastily shut them behind me and turned around to face him.

Before I could open my mouth to speak, Father hissed, “This had better be damned important, Loki. I do not appreciate your interrupting—”

“Father,” I said desperately, my voice having nearly lost all of its previous intensity.

He looked at me oddly when he heard the despair in my voice, when he saw the worry on my face.

“What is it?” he asked reservedly, no longer sounding so irritated.

“I must ask something of you, Father.”

“It could not wait?”

“Stjarna is leaving—”

He squinted at me. “Who?”

“Stjarnavetr,” I repeated quickly, voice rising in my frustration.

He stared at me for a long moment and then closed his eye, looking annoyed. “The one your mother took in from Vanaheim?”

“Yes, Valdrlund is taking her back to Vanaheim—”

“Yes, yes, I know,” he said, cutting me off and opening his eye to look at me again. “Your mother spoke to me of this and I have already decided—”

“Father,” I pleaded.

He pressed his lips together and then sighed, as if my speaking to him of this was a great burden or annoyance. “What is it you are asking of me?”

“I want you to keep her here. Do not let her go back to Vanaheim.”

He shook his head. “Why?”

When I was silent for a long moment, he raised his eyebrows inquiringly, urging me to speak, but I could not very well explain to Father Stjarna’s entire past now. Especially not with he who had done it all to her waiting in the next room.

“Because I… because I care very much for her.”

Father closed his eye again and shook his head, as if exasperated with me. “Loki, this—”

“Please, Father,” I implored. “I do not ask much of you, but this is beyond important to me. Please do this for me, I beg of you.”

Father looked at me and then away; he appeared contemplative. Finally, he said, “I will think on it, Loki. Leave me now.”

I nodded, grateful that he had heard me. I bowed to him, hoping that he would not simply dismiss my request. I turned to open the doors, but paused for a moment. There was a crack between the doors—I had not fully shut them in my haste.

As Father and I reentered his receiving chamber, I threw a glance at Valdrlund. He was gazing coolly at me, legs crossed and fingers tapping hard and methodically on the tabletop. He did not break eye contact with me as I walked and finally I had to look away as I went to exit Father’s chambers.

Right before the two guards shut the doors behind me, I heard Father say, “I do apologize for my son’s intrusion.”

I was not able to hear Valdrlund’s reply.

__

Stjarnavetr

Valdrlund was sitting at his table when I came to his chambers that night after dinner. He looked rather stoic, which immediately made me feel nervous. He motioned for me to sit across from him and I did so.

“Is there something wrong?” I ventured, my voice barely above a whisper.

He stared at me, though his gaze was not kind. Finally, he said, “Yes.”

My heart seemed to skip a beat.

“It was the oddest thing, Stjarnavetr,” he mused, lifting his hand to rest on the tabletop. He began tapping his fingers, which had never been a good sign. “I was in a meeting with the Allfather today when Prince Loki suddenly burst in.”

A cold feeling, like ice, began to slowly spread through my body as I gazed at him.

“He demanded to speak with the Allfather immediately, who obliged him. He looked rather frantic, you see. The Allfather apologized to me, as he should have, and took his son into the next room to speak privately. But I am sure in his haste, Prince Loki forgot to fully shut the doors because I could hear nearly all that was said.”

I tried to swallow, but it was difficult; I dreaded his next words. Valdrlund leaned forward and his frigid blue eyes seemed to bore into mine.

“The prince begged the Allfather to keep you from returning to Vanaheim with me.”

I lowered my eyes, unable to hold his penetrating gaze any longer. I felt despair, but did not say anything for fear of his reaction.

“I want to know,” Valdrlund uttered, “how the prince knew you were leaving?” His voice was dangerously low and it sent a chill through me.

“I…” I attempted to control the tremble in my voice. “I went to visit Hirdakyn this morning to tell him that… that I was leaving. I only wished to say goodbye, but—”

“Who is Hirdakyn? Have you lain with him as well?” Valdrlund growled, his voice rippling with barely disguised rage.

“No,” I said quickly, hoping desperately that he would believe me. “He is only a friend I have made here, he is the archivist of Asgard. Lok—the prince was there and he overheard and he—he only overheard, Valdrlund, I did not seek him out—”

Valdrlund looked down and I saw his jaw tighten and I immediately stopped speaking. After a long moment, he slowly stood up and came around the table, almost lazily tracing his fingers along the edge of the tabletop as he walked. I looked down at my hands in my lap, praying that he did not do anything.

He had always been so obscenely jealous and I knew it made him angry when I merely spoke to another man. Since I had lain with Loki before, he was probably disinclined to believe that I had not sought him out on my own.

When Valdrlund came around to my side, I stiffened in anticipation of being hit. But he did not strike me; he stood behind me, leaned down, and placed his hand on the side of my face. I flinched at his touch, but he caressed my cheek tenderly, as if to comfort me, and turned his head to press his lips to my temple.

“Do you expect me to believe that?” he murmured, slowly trailing his fingers down to wrap around my neck. He stroked the column of my throat with his thumb and I tried my hardest to quell the subtle trembling of my body.

“I am not lying to you,” I whispered, staring straight ahead.

“I hope you’re not,” he said, though I could detect the threat in his voice. He placed a gentle kiss on my cheek and then lower to the side of my neck before pulling away. “Come to bed, love.”

As he walked away and I could hear him undressing as he went, I closed my eyes and let out a heavy but silent breath. I did my best to swallow the tears I could feel rising in my throat as I stood up to follow him. I attempted to push it all down and put myself in that dependable state of indifference, but it was difficult to do when I was so shaken.

Once we were both in the bed, I lay back and dutifully opened my legs so Valdrlund could settle between them, but much to my surprise he grabbed my arm and jerked me up and pushed at me so I was lying on my stomach. I went to lift up on my arms, but he put his hand on my bare back and shoved me down and I gasped his name.

“Be quiet,” he muttered.

I instantly stilled, feeling this sickening apprehension churning in the pit of my stomach. I tensed up when I felt him push my legs apart with his knees and position himself at my entrance. I squeezed my eyes shut, anticipating him, and yet still bit back a loud gasp of pain when he roughly pushed into me, nearly moving me up on the bed. Not a moment later, he wrapped his hand around the back of my neck and held me down so that the side of my face was pressed into the bed.

Valdrlund said roughly, “I want you to remember, Stjarnavetr—” he thrust his hips again and I dug my nails into the bed “—that you are mine. You do not—” another hard thrust “—speak to him—” even harder this time and I could not help but to whimper in pain “—or see him...”

Now Valdrlund’s breaths were coming faster, but he leaned down and grabbed a large fistful of my hair and yanked my head back and up. I cried out at the sharp pain in my scalp and neck and tears instantaneously formed at the corners of my eyes. Valdrlund lowered himself so he was pressed against me and supporting himself above me on one of his forearms; his body on mine felt hot and suffocating and he tilted his head to caress the side of my strained neck with his lips.

“You belong to me and only me,” he growled. “Do you understand?”

I could only barely nod, but it must have been good enough for him because he violently released me, dug his nails into my hips to pull me backwards onto him, and proceeded to thrust into me until he had found his release and emptied himself inside me. Once he was spent and the spot between my legs aching, he pulled out of me and lay down. He wordlessly turned onto his side with his back to me and I lay there attempting not to cry. I almost felt sick, but I managed to swallow this shame—this revulsion—and curled up away from him.

As I inconspicuously wiped the tears from my eyes, I wished desperately that Loki would have just left me alone. I had not wanted to speak to him earlier today, but he had made me and now I was already paying for it. I prayed he would not try to see me again, but it was foolish to think that. I knew he would inevitably seek me out again and I only hoped Valdrlund would not find out. If I disobeyed him again and he learned of it—even if it was not my fault—he would not be so lenient next time.


	44. Part I - Chapter 44

Loki

It was the morning after I had implored Father to not let Valdrlund take Stjarna back with him to Vanaheim. I had yet to hear anything of his pronouncement, but had not wished to inquire again or push him for fear that he might make too hasty a decision, or the wrong one. But I was already growing restless, for time was running short. Valdrlund was set to leave Asgard sometime within the next week and with him Stjarna.

I had not been myself and Thor, during our training this morning, had noticed. He demanded I tell him what was going on and after much internal debate, I had at last revealed to him the cause of my restiveness.

Now we sat in the rest area of the training yard and Thor was still struggling with the fact that his new best friend was not what he seemed.

“So he is forcing her to return to Vanaheim?”

“Yes.”

“But you know not why?” he inquired.

“No. But I am certain he is making her.”

Thor looked uncertain, but said, “Well, what will Father do?”

I shook my head. “I only asked him yesterday, I’ve heard nothing yet.”

“Are you hopeful?”

I stared down at the ground. I prayed Father would keep Stjarna here, but I also felt doubt. Father had never been one to take my own wants into such serious consideration. With any luck, though, this time he would make an exception. I could not remember the last time I had so sincerely—so desperately—asked him for something of this importance.

And yet, I was more despairing than hopeful.

“No,” I admitted. “I am not.”

Thor put his hand on my shoulder. “I hope Father does as you have asked, Loki, if what you say about Valdrlund is true.”

I gave a little nod, acknowledging his support.

Just then, I heard rapidly approaching footsteps. I glanced up and saw a page—one of Father’s pages—coming towards us. I immediately jumped to my feet.

Father’s page came to a stop in front of us and bowed. “The Allfather has requested your presence in his chambers, Prince Loki.”

“He has already decided, then?” Thor questioned, rising to his feet.

“It seems so,” I replied. I was glad Father had come to a decision, but also felt trepidation. I did not think it a good sign that he had elected to meet with me in the privacy of his own chambers instead of in his throne room.

I tried not to think on that too much as I made my way to his chambers, though. Once I was there and admitted into his receiving chamber, I found him sitting at his table. I bowed to him and he asked me to sit, which I promptly did.

“Have you come to a decision, Father?” I asked him, leaning forward slightly in my chair.

“I have,” he responded. Judging by his expression, I knew it had been the wrong decision and so did he. “I am sorry, my son, but I have chosen not to interfere in the personal business of King Valdrlund. The Lady Stjarnavetr will return to Vanaheim with him.”

“What?” I snapped, immediately feeling a bloom of anger in my chest.

He held up his hand to momentarily placate me. “Do not think I did not carefully reflect on this matter. I considered what you said, Loki, but have ultimately decided it is not worth it.”

I stared at him, stunned. “Not worth it?” I echoed disbelievingly, my voice an angry whisper.

“There are larger issues going on right now and relations are still tentative between Asgard and Vanaheim, despite the renewal of the treaty. I cannot afford to further imperil the relationship of our two realms over the well-being of one woman.”

I clenched my fists beneath the table.

“So you will do nothing?” I bit out.

He looked exasperated. “I would try to make you understand, Loki, but you are still so young. I will not risk King Valdrlund’s displeasure at this time.”

“Why not?” I demanded irately.

He pressed his lips together in what looked like annoyance. “It would not be wise to jeopardize ongoing negotiations with the Van king now, especially over this most trivial matter—”

“Trivial matter?” I exclaimed.

Stjarna was a trivial matter?

“But she does not want to go, he is forcing her! She is a citizen of your realm! She is your subject and you will sit by and do nothing?”

Father’s gaze hardened. “If you are ever to be king,” he said firmly, “you must grow up and realize that there are things you must sacrifice for the good of the realm, including people you may care about.” And then his voice softened somewhat. “I know you feel for the girl, Loki, but she ultimately means nothing. None of them ever do. The sooner you come to understand this, the better.”

I could only stare at him. His words infuriated me. Stjarna meant nothing? How dare he tell me she meant nothing? How dare he reduce her to that and then to assume I would also come to see it?

I looked down, trying to swallow this rising fury.

Stjarna was not just some woman, he didn’t understand. She wasn’t like all those others. He did not know how I felt for her, but I also knew his decision did not solely revolve around risking Valdrlund’s anger. I knew Father did not like Stjarna—he never had, he had always thought her trash—and so he would not lose any sleep over her departure. He would rather have had her gone, but I had hoped as his son he would overlook his own inane prejudices and do this for me.

But I obviously had been sorely mistaken to think he would do such a thing for me.

“Loki,” he said, his voice gentler than before.

I looked up at him, not bothering to hide the malice in my gaze.

“Truly, I am sorry, but there is nothing I can do.”

“You mean you will do nothing,” I retorted, not moved by his repentant tone. I rose up from my chair. “I know damned well you are perfectly capable of keeping her here and yet—”

“I will not be questioned!” he thundered, quickly rising to his feet and effectively silencing me. “I have told you my decision! Do not query me further and do not interfere again. Leave me now.”

I glowered at him, my entire body shaking with rage, but I knew it would do no good to explode at him. He would not tolerate it as had Mother.

And so I furiously turned on my heel and headed towards the doors. I could not stand to be in here with him another moment. Once out in the corridor, I tried to calm myself and collect my thoughts.

I knew that Stjarna was the only one who could fix this now. She had to do it herself. If she decided to stay, Valdrlund could not make her go and surely Father would not force her? But it did not matter; I still had to try.

I needed to speak with Stjarna, even though I knew she would not wish to see me. I was about to head towards Mother’s chambers, but suddenly remembered that Stjarna was no longer in her service. She would probably be in her own chambers.

I quickly headed towards Stjarna’s rooms, feeling frantic, and when finally in front of her door did not bother to knock. I went right in, praying that she was here.

But she was not.

I cursed loudly and looked down at the floor, trying to think on where she could be. Would she be in the archives? And then though the thought sickened me, I dared to wonder if she would be in Valdrlund’s chambers, for she had admitted to lying with him—

“Loki?”

I glanced up and saw Stjarna standing in the open doorway that led to her balcony.

Relief flooded me.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, coming inside and stopping short of me. “I do not want you here, you have to leave—”

“Stjarna,” I interrupted, “you cannot go back with him.”

Her face fell.

“Please, Loki,” she said, sounding tired, “do not do this again.”

I went to speak, but then something caught my eye. I saw an open chest sitting by her table filled with books—most all of them gifts from me. And then I tore my eyes away and saw another chest near the foot of her bed, closed and undoubtedly full of her other belongings. The sight of that sent a rivulet of fresh panic through me.

“Stjarna,” I pleaded, “you can’t do this.”

But she shook her head and looked at me as if I was to be pitied. “You don’t understand, Loki. I have to.”

“No, you do not—”

“Yes!” she cried. “Yes, I do!”

“Why?” I demanded. “Why must you do this?”

She looked away from me, refusing to answer.

And so I said, “What did he do?”

“What?”

“I am not ignorant, Stjarna,” I said roughly. “I know you would not go back with him unless he was forcing you to. What did he do?”

Stjarna gave an obstinate little shake of her head. “There is nothing you can do, Loki.”

“Tell me!” I snapped.

She flinched, but remained silent.

“Stjarna,” I said angrily, taking a step towards her. “I care not what you think of me. I care not that you say you hate me and I care not that you do not wish to see me.” Now I leaned towards her and lowered my voice. “But I do care if he takes you back to Vanaheim. I do care if he lays a finger on you and I care very much if he hurts you and so you will tell me what he did.”

Stjarna stared wide-eyed at me and looked on the verge of tears. But then she broke my gaze and began to nervously twist her fingers together. I took her chin gently in my fingers and made her look up at me.

My voice was much softer. “I am only trying to help you, Stjarna. Please believe me.”

She looked up at me, eyes now glazed over with tears, and I could feel the faint trembling of her chin. Her eyes were flickering back and forth between mine, as if she was deciding on whether to trust me or not. And then finally, she whispered, “He threatened my father.”

“How?”

“He said Father was struggling and he would make it worse for him.”

“What does that mean?” I asked, letting go of her chin.

Stjarna shook her head and bit her lip, looking unsure. “I know not, but he would do it, Loki, he would do it—”

She immediately fell silent when I exhaled sharply, but I had not done so because of her. It was because I did not know what to do. I had not thought it might be something like this, something that I could not help. I was at a loss.

“So you see,” she said quietly, almost resignedly, “I cannot stay. There is nothing to be done, Loki. I have to go back, it is the only way.”

And then it came to me and before I had even seriously considered it, I said suddenly, “I will bring them here.”

Stjarna looked up at me in surprise. “What?”

“I will bring Andimódr and his family here to Asgard. I… I will have Frigga to invite them here, to offer them a place here. She will do it for me.” Even as I spoke, I pushed the thought of Mother’s sure reluctance away. I would guilt her into doing it, do anything I could to make her.

“Loki,” Stjarna said despairingly. “How would this possibly work? Why would he come here?”

“Did you not tell me that he told you when he came here that things were looking bad in Vanaheim? Would he not wish to live here? I will have Frigga—”

But Stjarna was only staring at me with this sort of imperturbable look on her face. She interrupted me, but her voice was soft and almost curious. “Why are you doing this, Loki?”

I stared at her strangely. “Because I cannot let you go.”

She shook her head and said with some sense of finality, “Valdrlund will not allow it.”

And it was odd, but the way she said it—so coolly and with such reserved inevitability, as if she had already accepted her fate so easily—seemed to snap something inside of me.

“Fuck what he allows!” I shouted. Stjarna recoiled from my outburst, but I took a step towards her and growled, “He does not own you.”

“But you do?” she challenged, her gaze hard.

When I only looked at her, somewhat surprised, she said angrily, “Is this what this is? Because he’s taking what belongs to you?”

I glared at her, not even bothering to deign to reply to that nonsense. So I only said, “You are not going back. I will not let you.”

“Why?” she suddenly cried. “It is over between us, Loki, so why do you keep trying? Why do you prolong this?”

“Because…” I began angrily, but my voice trailed off and I could only stare at her, suddenly at a loss for words. I did not know how to tell her that it filled me with misery that she should leave Asgard. How did I articulate to her that the very thought of never seeing her again, that the knowledge that she was being abused in another realm and I was helpless to stop it, tore me apart?

When I remained silent, Stjarna turned away from me, looking sorrowful.

Finally, I found my voice again. “Because… because I do not want you to leave me.”

She looked at me, her expression peculiar. “But it is already done, Loki.”

I shook my head. How could she do this? How could she be so calm about it all? Was she not dying on the inside?

But her passivity was not calming to me in the least bit; it only made me more heated.

“I care not,” I said desperately, trying to mask the anger in my voice. “I cannot let you go, Stjarna.”

“But it is too late—”

“Stop saying that!” I shouted. “Stop saying that, you are not going!”

“What will you do, then?” she contested, her expression infuriatingly composed. “Are you going to kill him, Loki?”

I gritted my teeth. “I will do something.”

“Do not be ignorant,” she scoffed. And then softer, “It does not matter, anyway. I have no doubt you will soon find another to warm your bed as well as I did.”

I stared at her. How could she be like this? How could she be so unfeeling? This was not my Stjarna. What had happened to her? Had I really hurt her this much?

“But I do not want another,” I said, grabbing her arm. She glanced up at me, eyes flashing, but I held her tightly, forcing her to look at me. “I do not want another,” I reiterated, my voice lower, but no less firm. “You are the only one I want and I will not let him take you away.”

Her tone was unforgiving. “It did not seem that way before.”

“I was a fool,” I snapped. “I want none but you.”

And then I saw the tears gathering in her eyes once again and saw the slight trembling of her chin. She looked down, unable to meet my gaze. “But it is too late.”

“No, it is not,” I stressed. “I can bring your father and his family here.”

But she shook her head and I grew even more anxious.

“Stjarna, I am begging you to see reason—”

Suddenly, her eyes flickered up to meet mine. “Reason? What if he does not let them leave, Loki?” she demanded. “What if he does not let them leave Vanaheim? What if he hurts them because I try to do this?”

In truth, I knew not what to say to that. So I said, somewhat in irritation, “Would you not at least try? Do you not care for your own well-being at all? You know he will hurt you again—”

Stjarna let out a harsh laugh and looked at me in what almost appeared to be hate. “Do you not think he has already done that, Loki?”

She pushed me away and glared virulently at me.

“Do you think he has not already hurt me? He has hurt me, Loki, and it will never stop—”

“No, I won’t let him hurt you again—”

“You already did!” she nearly screamed, staring at me with such loathing in her eyes. “You already let him and you were not there to stop it! I screamed your name and I cried for you, but you did not come!”

And then, much to my surprise, she suddenly took a step forward and tried to hit me. I barely avoided her hand, but then she tried to hit me again and landed a blow to my chest, though it did not hurt. She attempted to shove me backwards and now there were tears streaming down her face and she was cursing me.

I easily caught her wrists and she tried to jerk away, but I held her tightly.

She turned her head and squeezed her eyes shut and let out a sob. “Where were you? Where were you?”

I stared at her, my fingers still wrapped tightly around her wrists. “What are you talking about?” I demanded.

And then she yanked her hands away and I let her go and she turned around.

“He came to me,” she cried, lifting her hands to cover her face. She began to weep and I could barely discern what she was saying. “The night of the banquet, he came to my chambers…”

But I still did not understand. I had warned him off of her in the corridor and he had come back to the banquet. I had seen him there the whole night.

I shook my head, though she could not see. “I do not understand.”

“He followed me,” she answered tearfully. “I went… I went to my chambers, but he followed me.”

A feeling like ice began to slowly spread through my body, numbing me. I stared at her in disbelief, not wanting to believe her, praying that this was a misunderstanding. Surely she did not mean…

“Stjarna… I saw him in the great hall the entire night…”

“It was his shade!” she cried. “He came to me, he wanted to talk, but we—we fought and he hit me and he f—force—”

And then she burst into sobs, unable to finish.

But she did not need to.

I knew.

He had raped her.

And in that instant, the ice in my veins was melted by the fire carving a path through my body, this rage rising so quickly to the surface. I turned around, hardly knowing where I was going, but only that I must get to Valdrlund. He had forced himself on her—raped her—and I was going to kill him, king or no king.

But then Stjarna’s scream shattered the air and she grabbed my arm and yanked me back and I nearly stumbled into her.

“No!” she shrieked, holding tightly to me. “No, do not go to him!”

I regained my balance and turned on her, livid, but she was still clutching at me.

“What?” I demanded irately, going to pry her fingers off of me. “I’m going to fucking kill him—”

“No!” she cried, frantically shaking her head. As soon as I had prized her fingers from my arm, she quickly threw her arms around my torso and began crying even more hysterically. “You cannot, you will only make it worse! Please do not go, Loki, please!”

I stared down at the top of her head, my entire body trembling—I had never in my life felt such rage as I did now. To think that he had taken her against her will, that he had forced himself into her body. A fresh wave of anger surged within me, but she was still hanging onto me, still weeping and still begging.

“Promise me you won’t hurt him, please, please promise me, Loki!” she pleaded.

I shook my head and said furiously, “No, he—”

And then she looked up and put her hands on either side of my head and almost roughly pulled me down so our eyes were level. There were tears streaming down her cheeks and her lips were trembling.

“If you truly care for me, you will not go!” she implored, voice choked with tears. She moved to wrap her arms around my neck, I think in part to keep me from breaking away and storming off, and then my arms were going around her and she was sobbing hard now. “If you care for me, you will leave him alone. Please promise me, please promise me…”

I stared down at the floor, head pressed to the side of hers. I could feel her body shaking violently against mine with the intensity of her cries and I tightened my embrace, feeling sick.

She was crying it over and over, beseeching me. “Promise me, please, please, promise me…”

“Yes,” I finally said, my voice bitter. “I promise.”

But she did not stop crying. The chest at the foot of her bed was only a few steps away and I sat us down on that and she nearly immediately wilted into my arms as if she did not have the strength to sit up. She leaned into me, arms still draped around my neck and body racked with sobs. The sound of her weeping like this agonized me, and even more so for the cause of it.

I buried my face in her hair, this fury replaced now by grief. I could not help but to envision it.

I did not need to imagine her terror or her helplessness; I already knew the feeling of suffocation, the feeling of drowning in their heat and their smell and losing yourself in it all. But that she had been forced to endure it here—that I could have stopped it.

I kept imagining him striking her, holding her down, forcing her legs apart, her crying beneath him, and I had been sitting in the great hall the entire time, so unknowing. Rage once again welled up inside me when I remembered how the morning after the banquet, I had found her in the courtyard. She had not seemed herself, but never would I have suspected… and then how I had touched her, how violently she had reacted to me.

I wanted to kill him. I wanted to slit his throat wide open from ear to ear, but despite my fury, I could not touch him. Not really. He was king of Vanaheim and Odin would kill me if I were to actually touch Valdrlund. And I had promised Stjarna…

Gods, this was entirely my fault. I had not been looking after her as I should have—as I had promised her—and I had left her open and vulnerable to him. He should not have been able to get to her, none of this should have happened.

I gently stroked her hair as she wept, wanting to stop her crying, wishing I could stop her hurting. But I could not mend this hurt. I could not fix any of it. I had not been able to repair the damage I had done to her before Valdrlund had come and I would not be able to fix this and the thought that I could not make it better killed me.

And it was in that moment that it came to me, that moment when I realized, at last, that I loved her.

I pulled her closer and held her even more tightly to me, loathing myself that it had taken this for me to recognize it. I was in love with this woman and I had been in love with her for so long, but had been too cowardly, too stubborn, to admit it to myself, too reluctant to acknowledge that I could feel like this for another—but I could deny it no longer.

And now here she sat, broken and suffering because I had not been there for her. I had been so cruel to her and look where it had led. She had loved me once, but how could she now? How could she ever again love me?

Why had I not responded to her that night when she had told me she loved me? Why had I not taken her into my arms and kissed her and told her I loved her, too? Why had I chosen to turn my back on her? But now it was too late—Stjarna was right, it was all too late. She would never love me as she had before and I could now never admit this to her.

It was my fault this had happened and she was correct in blaming me, in hating me. If I had not treated her so badly, none of this might have happened.

I whispered her name, overwhelmed by this crushing remorse, and felt tears stinging in my eyes. “Stjarna… I am so sorry.”

Perhaps she thought I was apologizing for Valdrlund, and I was, but also for all of the agony I had caused her that had led to this. I had never wanted this, never could have imagined it truly coming to this, but it had and I felt that it was entirely my fault.

Stjarna wept until eventually her sobs began to diminish and she had cried all she could, but she did not immediately pull away; she remained enfolded in my arms and kept her face pressed against me. It was only when I quietly whispered her name that she stirred and slowly sat up. She wiped the tears away with her sleeve and I saw that her cheeks were red and swollen from crying and her eyes bloodshot. I hardly knew what it was that I felt in looking at her. Rage for what had been done to her? Guilt? Sorrow? But it was this sickening combination of them all.

“Oh, Stjarna,” I murmured.

“I am sorry,” she mumbled weakly, looking away. “I should not have—”

But I pulled her back to me, put my hands on either side of her head, and gently kissed her forehead. She put one hand over mine and drew it down so I was cupping her warm cheek. I could feel her soft breath on my hand as she held it to her face, could feel the light brush of her lips on my skin as she closed her eyes and leaned into me.

I heard her whisper, “I will stay in Asgard.”

I closed my eyes, feeling relief wash through me, and kissed the top of her head.

And then she pulled back and looked up at me. Her voice sounded raw from crying and it still trembled. “But you must bring them here immediately, Loki. You must go to the queen now.”

“Will you not come with me?” I inquired.

I saw fear flicker in her eyes and she quickly shook her head. “No, no, I… I cannot be seen with you.”

“What? Why?” I asked. I did not want to leave her alone again. I wanted her by my side at all times, at least until Valdrlund left, but then I realized the implication of her statement. “He has told you not to see me?”

She nodded, her expression solemn. “I am not to see you or speak with you. I am fearful of what he will do when he finds out.”

I took her hand in mine and she did not pull it away. “He will do nothing, Stjarna. He will not touch you again, I will make sure of it.”

But she only gazed at me unhappily, as if she doubted I could do such a thing.

So I said, “Stay with me tonight. Stay in my rooms.”

I could not bear the thought of her going to him tonight, knowing he would lie with her.

And yet she looked away, appearing hesitant.

“Stjarna,” I said firmly. Her eyes flickered up to mine. “Stay with me tonight.”

Her eyes drifted down and came to settle on my chest. When she gave a little nod, I embraced her again. “Thank you, Stjarna,” I whispered.

Now I needed to go speak with Mother, but I did not want Stjarna to be alone. I still wanted her to come with me, despite her reluctance, and I said so.

But still she was unwilling to be seen with me. “I cannot. But I will come to your chambers after dinner, Loki. He will not come to me during the day, he has other duties. I will be fine here.”

I still was dreadfully unsure, but knew I would only upset her further if I pressed it. Besides, I knew Valdrlund was indeed taken up with his kingly obligations.

And so I very tentatively left her in her chambers, trusting that I would see her after dinner.

__

“You promised her what?” Mother said incredulously.

“Valdrlund threatened her father,” I repeated for the third time, feeling aggravated now. She was seated in a chair and I was pacing in front of her. “That is why she is going back. Did I not tell you he was forcing her? I want you to bring her father here and his wife and child. It should not be any trouble.”

“Loki,” she said, sounding aghast. “It is not so simple as that. I cannot simply… invite them here.”

“Why not?” I demanded, knowing I very well could not go back to Stjarna and tell her it could not be done. I would not do that to her.

“Her father and his family, they are King Valdrlund’s subjects. If what you say is true about him threatening them, why would he let them leave so easily, Loki? I cannot seek to override Valdrlund’s rule in his own realm—”

I gritted my teeth. “You would not be overriding his rule, Mother. You would simply be… inviting them to live here in Asgard. Offer Andimódr a place here as the official royal court painter, I know not! Just do something, I know you can!”

“Loki—”

“Just do it, damn it!” I shouted, causing her to flinch. “I will not tell Stjarna that I could not bring them here. I will not let her go back with that son of a whore. Do not tell me you cannot do it!”

Mother gazed stoically at me. “Your father is in the middle of a very important… negotiation… with King Valdrlund, and this would surely upset—”

“I don’t give a fuck!” I nearly screamed. “What, will you not even stand up to Father? Do you want Valdrlund to take her back?”

I almost thought about telling her that Valdrlund had raped Stjarna the night of the banquet, but I bit my tongue. Surely it would not take that to convince Mother to do this for her former handmaiden, for her son’s former lover?

But then Mother rose up out of her chair. She looked angry, an expression I had seen on her less than a handful of times in my entire life. “Do not dare to think for me, Loki,” she said flatly. “I care for Stjarna, too, but unfortunately there are other things that must be considered—”

She sounded just like Father and I could not believe she was refusing me. Would she not even risk Father’s anger for me? For Stjarna?

“Then I will do it myself,” I snapped, caring not to hear her excuses, no matter how coherent they may have been. “Perhaps you could live with yourself if you let her go back, knowing he will only continue to mistreat her, but I could not. Unlike you, Mother, I shall do everything in my power to keep her here, even if that means upsetting Father’s negotiations.”

I turned on my heel, ready to storm out, but right before I reached the doors, I heard her say my name. I stopped and angrily turned to face her.

She stared at me for a long moment and then walked up to me. She no longer looked angry—she was exceedingly talented at concealing her emotions—and said softly, “I will do this for you, Loki, and for her, but do not be surprised if things turn sour.”

I looked down at her, my anger no less abated. I did not address the last part of her statement. Let Valdrlund get angry, let Father rage. I cared not, as long as Stjarna was kept safe here.

“I want Andimódr and his family brought here as quickly as possible,” I said.

Mother gave a small nod. “Then I will send a messenger immediately.”

__

Stjarna, as she said she would, came to my chambers that night immediately after dinner. She seemed nervous and I knew it was because she had not gone to Valdrlund’s chambers. She told me he would expect her to be there and was fearful that he would come looking for her, but I assured her that she was perfectly safe here.

I locked my door, attempting to allay her fears, and finally she relaxed a little. We sat in front of my fireplace in my bedchamber and she insisted I tell her every single word exchanged between Mother and I earlier in the day. She did not like that I had yelled at Frigga and discreetly chastised me for it, which coaxed a small smile from me. But then she conveyed worry that the messenger to Vanaheim, whom Mother had sent sometime before dinner, would not be quick enough, or that perhaps her father would not wish to come, but I tried to comfort her and told her all would be well, though of course I could not be completely certain. But Stjarna looked so uneasy that I could do nothing but try to mollify her.

At one point during the night, she expressed thanks.

“Loki?” she ventured, when we had been sitting in silence for the past half hour.

I looked up at her, where before I had been gazing into the snapping fire.

She was playing with a loose thread on her dress in her lap and almost appeared to be hesitant to speak. But then she said quietly, “Thank you, Loki. For doing this.”

“Do not thank me,” I replied tersely, which drew a surprised look from her. “It is because of me that this has happened.”

She stared at me for a long moment, her expression unreadable, before finally tearing her eyes away to stare back into the fire.

I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, feeling sorrow.

Gods, I wanted to take her in my arms and kiss her and tell her how much I loved her, how much I had always loved her even if I may not have realized it, and I was so sorry that I had been so blind. I wanted to make up for all of the time wasted, I wanted to assuage her of her fears and her sorrows and to take all of her pain away.

But I could not. What would she do if I did that? What if I did take her into my arms and told her I loved her? I knew she would not return my kiss, nor my sentiment. She would think I was playing with her and she would push me away and perhaps once again voice her hatred for me and the small amount of progress we had made today would be for nothing. Besides, she did not need to deal with such a thing now; I knew she would want to be left to herself.

No. It was best I kept silent.

Soon after, Stjarna wished to sleep. I acquiesced to her request and stood up and went to my couch, where there was a pillow from my bed and a spare blanket I’d had tucked away in one of my chests. I sat down and my eyes were nearly immediately drawn to Stjarna, who now stood by my bed.

She had just finished unlacing her outer gown and was pulling it up and over her head. She folded it and laid it neatly on my bedside table before pulling off her shoes and stockings. I studied her in the dimness of the room, her form half shrouded in darkness and the other half lit up orange by the light of the crackling fire.

She pulled back the covers and climbed up into the bed—I noticed she chose the side that she had always slept on when we were together—and situated herself beneath the covers. Suddenly, I wondered to myself how many times we had crawled into my bed together, laughing or smiling, how many times I had lifted her up into it or she had pulled me in after her, welcoming my kisses and attentions. But we would never return to that. It was useless to think on such things, especially now, what with the events of this past week.

I shed all of my clothes except for my pants and unlike Stjarna, dropped them unceremoniously to the floor. Usually I would have slept naked, but with Stjarna here I would not risk making her uncomfortable in any way. She was under enough stress as it was.

I lay down on the couch and pulled the blanket up. I laced my fingers together and rested them on my stomach and stared up at the ceiling. I knew I would not be able to fall asleep and so did not try to.

I could think only of Stjarna. I thought of our falling out and I thought of him raping her and I began to grow angry all over again. I wanted to kill him, I wanted to make him suffer, but I had promised Stjarna I would not touch him. And yet even after everything that had transpired, after everything I had done to her, she had entrusted herself to me—at least for tonight—and whether or not she still loved me, I had finally admitted to myself that I was in love with her and would do everything in my power to keep her here in Asgard and to protect her.


	45. Part I - Chapter 45

Stjarnavetr

I awoke before Loki did.

For a moment, I forgot where I was and felt confusion, for I immediately recognized that I was in Loki’s bed. But then I saw him asleep on his couch, lying on his stomach and arm hanging over the edge so his fingers brushed against the stone floor. The blanket was pulled down nearly to his waist, exposing his back to the pale, early morning light.

I looked away, remembering with a pang of worry the events of the day before.

I had told him about the night of the banquet…

Now I glanced back at Loki’s sleeping form, not knowing whether to feel relief or regret that somebody—even if it was him—knew. I swallowed when I recalled how angry he had gotten, how I had barely been able to keep him from storming off. I did not even wish to think about what Loki would have done if I had not been able to hinder him and he had gotten to Valdrlund. Even though Valdrlund was a king, I doubt that would have stopped Loki from doing something drastic, as furious as he had been in that moment.

But then he had held me in his arms and I had let him. I did not think of everything Loki had done to hurt me, but was only grateful in that moment for his arms around me. I had held onto him and cried; I cried for Valdrlund forcing himself on me, I cried for being coerced into returning to Vanaheim, and I cried for Loki and myself. I did not care that I was supposed to hate him and had let all of my fears and worries and anger pour out of me.

And then something, I know not what it was, possessed me to say yes, I would stay in Asgard. Perhaps the thought of returning to Vanaheim, of truly giving myself back to Valdrlund for him to do with as he pleased, utterly terrified me. Once back in Vanaheim, it would be impossible for me to escape him.

At first, I did not think there was a way Loki could bring Father and Konavefr and their son here, but then I thought perhaps the queen could do it. That small chance had been enough for me—if Father and his family could be brought here and keep me from becoming Valdrlund’s mistress once again, I would do it.

And so I had agreed to stay in Asgard.

Loki had been so relieved that he had kissed me on the forehead, but then another request from him: he wished me to stay with him. I had been averse to the idea at first, for surely Valdrlund would be angry with me if I did not go to him as I was supposed to, but then I had thought of him taking me to his bed as he had been doing every night since I had agreed to go back with him and the thought sickened me. Loki had offered me a way out and no longer did I think of Valdrlund’s displeasure. I only knew I did not wish to lie with him again; I did not want him to touch me and kiss me and tell me how much he loved me. I did not want to lie beneath him one more night and let him spend his desires in me.

But now that it was done and I in Loki’s chambers—in his bed—I could not drive Valdrlund’s inevitable wrath from my mind. Surely he would be beyond furious that I had not come to him last night. I wondered if he had sent Skapgódr to fetch me when I did not show and wondered how angry he had been when he realized I was not even in my rooms.

Now I felt sick. Perhaps I should have gone to his chambers and endured one or two more nights with him, if only to keep him from suspecting, if only to keep him from being angry with me.

But the queen had sent a messenger to Vanaheim yesterday, urging my father to come to Asgard. If things would fall so quickly into place, all might be well.

I quietly slipped out of the bed and dithered about, nervously wringing my hands. I did not wish to wake Loki, but I was desperate for any news. Though it was doubtful the messenger had returned with Father’s answer, or if the messenger had even found him yet, I did not care—I needed to know anything.

Finally, I walked up to Loki and gently touched his shoulder.

“Loki?” I whispered.

When he did not move, I touched him again. “Loki?”

Now he stirred and cracked his eyes open. When he saw me standing there, probably looking worried, he immediately sat up.

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” I responded quietly. “I… I was only wondering when you might go to see the queen.”

“Oh.” He rubbed his eyes and bent over to grab his tunic off the floor. He glanced at the incoming light and stood up and said, “It is still very early.”

I lowered my head as he pulled his shirt on, feeling apprehension.

“Stjarna.”

My eyes flickered up to meet his gaze.

“I doubt Mother would have had heard anything by now, anyway. It will do no good to worry.”

I gave a small nod and Loki sighed as he stood up.

“What if I had breakfast brought here?”

I felt reluctance, for I did not wish to waste any time, but Loki was right. It was unlikely that the queen had heard anything yet. It had not even been a day since she had sent the messenger.

“Alright,” I said uncertainly.

As Loki went to call for a servant to bring us food, I went into his bath chamber to freshen up.

Less than an hour later, we sat at the table in his main room. It felt odd sitting here like this with him, but I did not remark on it. We ate in silence for a while and Loki kept staring at me and he almost looked sorry and it began to annoy me, for I knew why he looked so.

“Stop looking at me,” I finally said. “I do not want your pity.”

But he only continued to stare at me.

“What?” I snapped.

“I want you to tell somebody.”

I balked when I realized what he meant.

“No.”

Now he looked angry. “Why not?”

“It will only make things worse.” And then I felt suspicion. “You did not tell the queen, did you? You did not dare to tell her.”

“No, though I should have.”

“No, you should not have,” I responded heatedly. “Do not tell any.”

“But he must be punished!”

I shook my head. “It will only make things worse.”

“Worse?” he said indignantly.

“It does not need to be known—”

“What, that he raped you?” he said furiously, glaring at me.

I stared at him, lips parted in surprise. Hearing it said aloud like that… I quickly looked down at my fingers, feeling this uncomfortable heat spread through my body.

Now Loki’s voice was much softer. “Stjarna, I am sorry, but—”

“What could be done?” I whispered angrily, feeling my eyes sting with tears. “He is a king. You cannot touch him.”

“If Odin were to know—”

“No!” I shouted, looking up. “You must not tell anybody.”

“Not even Eir? Will you not go to her?”

“No, I am alright—”

Suddenly, Loki slammed his cup down onto the table and I flinched.

“No, you’re not fucking alright!” he shouted. He stood up and leaned over the table, supporting himself on his arms. “I want you to go to Eir, at least.”

I stared at him for a long moment, heart pounding in my chest, before I pushed my chair back and stood up.

“I should not have come here,” I said, trying to swallow the tears rising in my throat. “I knew it was a mistake to trust you.”

Loki’s expression transformed into one of almost hurt surprise as I turned around, headed towards his door. I would go to see the queen now, I did not care what Loki said. But then where would I go? I had spurned Valdrlund for Loki and I knew he would be able to get to me and he would be angry.

But I did not want to stay here with Loki if he was going to be ceaselessly pestering me about telling another about that night. Did he not realize that nothing could be done to Valdrlund? Did he not realize he was only making it worse for me?

Before I reached his door, however, he was in front of me, trying to stop me. He said my name, but I recoiled from his touch.

“Do not touch me,” I hissed.

“Where are you going?” he demanded.

“I am going to see the queen,” I said defiantly.

“Stjarna, I am telling you, she will not have heard anything by now. Please stay.”

I stared hatefully at him for a long time, weighing my options, before I slowly turned around. I went back to the table and sat down. He followed suit, looking wary.

“Stjarna,” he whispered, and I was surprised to see tears in his eyes, “I am sorry. It is just… I cannot stand the thought of what he did to you. I want him to suffer for it. I want to kill him.”

“But you cannot,” I said prudently. “You think you are helping me by doing this, Loki, but you are not.”

He looked away and took a deep breath. “Then I want you to stay with me until he leaves.”

I stared at him in surprise. “What?”

“I don’t want him to see you again.”

“You want me to stay in here for the next week?”

“If that is what it takes, then yes.”

Though I knew Loki was only trying to protect me, I felt resentment. But before I could reply, there was a knocking sound and my indignation was immediately replaced by fear. I quickly stood up and turned around to stare at Loki’s door.

My first thought was that it was Valdrlund come to collect me—he knew I was here, how could he not know?

Loki noticed my panicked reaction and stood up. Attempting to pacify me, he said softly, “It is not him. It cannot be.”

Loki went to the door and I stood off to the side so whoever it was could not see me. I held my breath, waiting to hear Valdrlund’s voice, but Loki had been right—it was not him.

It was only a page.

“Your Highness,” he said, “the Allfather has summoned both you and Prince Thor. He is waiting in Gladsheim.”

Loki told the page that he would be there shortly and shut the door. He turned and looked at me.

“Stjarna, I must go, but I want you to stay here.”

I pressed my lips together. “But what about—”

“I will go to see the queen after I see Father,” he assured me. “Then I will come back here, alright?”

I nodded and asked quietly, “What does the Allfather want?”

“I know not. It could take a while.”

“Please do not take too long.”

I saw the corner of his lips twitch upwards in a smile. “I will try not to keep you waiting too long, Stjarna.”

And then he was gone.

I was still feeling slightly on edge, so I sat back down at the table and drank some wine to calm my nerves. Still, though, I could not quell this restlessness. I began to pace, wondering if the queen had heard anything yet. I did not want to wait any longer for news, I wanted to know now. I did not even want to wait for Loki. I knew he could be hours and I did not think I could bear to sit here doing nothing, just waiting, when I was perfectly capable of finding out myself.

And so, knowing it would anger Loki, but unable to wait anymore, I left his rooms and went to see the queen. I knew she would be up and about by now.

I made it to her chambers without incident.

All of the handmaidens were there and gathered in their own little groups. When I entered, they all looked up at me. I offered a small smile to my friends, who smiled back at me. The queen had been talking with one of the other women and appeared slightly surprised at my unexpected arrival.

She rose to her feet, looked around, and then politely dismissed all of the other women for the morning. I stood in silence as the handmaidens quietly filed out. Once they had all gone, the queen offered me one of her chairs and I sat.

“I apologize, Your Majesty, but I could not wait,” I said before she could speak. “Have you heard anything from Vanaheim?”

The queen sat across from me and tilted her head slightly, looking sorry. “I am afraid not, Stjarnavetr.”

When my face fell, she tried to assure me. “I am sure I will hear something either later today or tomorrow. Heimdall was able to locate your father so the messenger would not waste any time in searching for him. But no… I have heard nothing yet.”

I looked down at my hands, crestfallen.

And then the queen said softly, “Loki explained to me the… circumstances… of your returning to Vanaheim.”

I looked up at her in alarm. Surely Loki had not told her about the night of the banquet? He had told me he did not tell her.

“About Valdrlund threatening your father? I related this in the letter I sent to him. I said that you were in trouble and that time was of the essence. Hopefully that will spur him to come here.”

I nodded, understanding the logic behind her reasoning. If it encouraged him to come to Asgard, then I was alright with it.

The queen leaned forward. “As soon as I find something out, Stjarnavetr, I will let you know immediately.”

I nodded again. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I am incredibly grateful to you for this.” I let my eyes drift down. “And to Loki.”

I sat with the queen for perhaps another hour. She expressed certainty that my father would come here, for she remembered him when he had come to paint Loki and Thor’s portraits. She told me she could tell even then that he loved me very much and if he thought me in trouble, he would come here for me. She was able to calm my nerves, more so than Loki had been able to, and I left her chambers feeling more contented than I had in the past couple of days.

When I stepped out into the corridor, I was surprised to see Gullhár standing there. She had been slowly pacing back and forth and looked up at me when I came out of the queen’s chambers. She approached me and wrapped her arms around me. I embraced her back and she held me for a long moment before pulling back.

She said softly, “You have not seemed yourself lately, Stjarnavetr. The queen told us you are no longer a handmaiden, she said you were going back to Vanaheim. I wished to speak to you, but you have not been in your rooms… what is going on?”

I stared at her. “I… I was. But I am not anymore.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, furrowing her brows.

“I was going back to Vanaheim, but I am no longer,” I explained.

We began talking and I told her what had happened, leaving out the part where Valdrlund had come to my chambers the night of the banquet. I only told her that he had pressured me into returning to Vanaheim with him, but now with the help of the queen my father might come here and so I would not have to go back.

I normally would have been averse to revealing this to anybody but Loki or the queen, but Gullhár was my best friend here and she had been worried for me. I understood her concern and so thought she deserved to know what was going on.

After I had explained everything, she expressed relief that I was remaining in Asgard. As we parted ways, I also hoped I would actually be able to remain here. What the queen had said had filled me with hope, but I was not so foolish as to assume it was set in stone. This entire situation was still rather precarious.

After Gullhár had left, I was about to return to Loki’s chambers, but stopped. I had decided earlier that I would stay with Loki for the next few days at least, no matter how much he irked me. I would need to bring a couple of dresses with me, for I did not wish to wear the same outfit for so long. I would need my nightgown as well, for I was disinclined to sleep in this one shift the rest of the week.

I also wished to bathe and was not sure I would feel comfortable doing it in Loki’s chambers yet.

I made my way to my own rooms and once there gathered two extra gowns, two shifts, and my nightgown. I drew a warm bath and quickly bathed. Afterwards, I toweled my hair dry and went out onto my balcony. I leaned against the stone railing, enjoying this brief moment of peace, and thought of my father. I wondered where the messenger was now and whether my father had decided to come here or not. I trusted he would come here at the queen’s insistence, especially for me.

I had been out on my balcony for less than half an hour, lost in these thoughts, when I heard the door inside my chambers open. I straightened up, for I was still leaning against the rail, and assumed it was Loki. I knew he would be upset with me for not having stayed in his chambers, but I was not sorry. I did not like how he had tried to push me this morning.

But I wondered if he had gone to see his mother and if there had been any news since an hour ago. Some foolish part of me thought that perhaps the queen might have heard something since then.

I went to go back into my chambers.

“Loki, did you—”

But when I entered the room, I immediately froze.

Valdrlund was standing there and upon hearing Loki’s name, his eyes narrowed. Without breaking eye contact, he shut the door behind him and my heart dropped.

“Stjarnavetr,” he said. “I was hoping I would find you here.”

I stared at him, suddenly filled with dread. Why was he here?

“You did not come to me last night,” he remarked coolly, slowly walking towards me. “Why?”

I felt fear bloom in the pit of my stomach.

When I did not reply, he asked me again. “Why did you not come to me when I summoned you?”

I took a step back as he advanced on me, my body tight with fear. But then I finally found my voice and I whispered, “I am not going back with you.”

“What did you say?” he growled, stalking towards me.

“I am not going back to Vanaheim with you,” I said meekly, taking another step back.

And then he was in front of me and I turned my head, no longer able to hold his livid gaze. He reached out, roughly grabbed me by the face, and jerked my head up, forcing me to look at him.

His voice was eerily calm. “You’re not going back with me? Why?”

I felt as if I was about to vomit, but I managed to push his arm away, which he surprisingly let me, and took another step back. I did not want him touching me, but I knew if he wanted to hurt me, he would be able to. I was no match for him.

“I do not want to be your mistress,” I answered. It took everything I had to keep my voice from shaking.

Too quickly for me to react, he grabbed me by the throat. I gasped as he pushed me backwards until he slammed me into the wall. The back of my head snapped against the hard stone and I grimaced for the pain. I grasped his wrist and hand and tried in vain to pry his fingers off of me, but his hold was too tight now. I looked up into his eyes, my own already filling with tears, perhaps silently begging him to not hurt me, but he only gazed down at me with a cool ferociousness.

“Why?” he growled. “Are you going to stay here, Stjarnavetr, and keep fucking him?”

I could not reply, for I could barely breathe. Panic rose in me like a wave and I tried frantically to twist out from beneath him, but he tightened his grip on me and I stilled, tears blurring my vision and rolling down my face.

He leaned in until our noses were nearly touching. His voice was low and dangerous. “Is that where you were last night? Fucking him?”

I could not breathe at all now and I tried to say his name, beseeched him to let me go, but I could not speak. I tried once again to unfurl his fingers from around my throat, but his grip was vice-like and I could not budge him. And still he was only staring down at me, his face a mask of casual indifference.

“Val…” I managed to whisper.

Suddenly, he released me. I sucked in a deep breath and coughed, but before I even had a chance to collect myself, he drew his arm back and slapped me hard across the face. Pain exploded in my cheek and I stumbled sideways, about to fall. Before I could, though, Valdrlund grabbed a handful of my hair, twisted it around his fist, and yanked me back towards him. I cried out in pain and he smacked me again, but held my hair so I did not fall, and then he struck me again and again and again and I fell to my knees and began crying his name, begging him to stop, but he would not stop hitting me.

I tried to cover my face, but when I did that he released my hair, grabbed my wrist, and wrenched me to the side, exposing me to him. Before I could try to cover my face again, he hit me once more, harder than before, and I was thrown to the ground.

I managed to right myself and was on all fours, head bowed down and body shaking violently. I could taste blood in my mouth; my head was pounding and my face burning and I could not see for the tears blinding me.

I heard Valdrlund make a sound of incredulity. “I do not understand, Stjarnavetr.”

He kicked one of the chairs by my table and it smashed loudly into the wall. I recoiled from the sound and half-collapsed onto the floor, no longer able to hold myself up for how badly I was trembling. I was doing my absolute hardest to not burst into tears again, but it took everything I had not to.

Valdrlund began angrily pacing, cursing to himself.

“I offer you a place in Vanaheim again,” he said furiously. “I would give you a new life there, a new start for us, and I thought… I thought we could begin anew, but you betray me again? Why?”

He stopped pacing suddenly and turned to me. He bent over and glowered at me, his face inches from mine.

“Why?” he demanded.

But I could not lift my head, I could not bear to meet his wrathful gaze, and so I looked away.

“Answer me!” he screamed. I flinched and began quietly crying, unable to hold it back anymore.

He scoffed at my tears and stood back up.

“What is it that he has, Stjarnavetr? Hmm?”

I did not answer him—I could not for my tears.

And then he grabbed a fistful of hair on the top of my head and hauled me up. I screamed and tried to grab his hand, for it felt as if the hair was being ripped from my head, but he spun me around and shoved me forwards. I stumbled into my table and before I could right myself, he was behind me. He put his hand on my back and roughly pushed me down so I was bent over the edge, cheek pressed to the hard wood.

I was panting and choking on my sobs, but then I heard him sigh behind me.

He ran his fingertip slowly down my spine and clucked his tongue.

“It is my own fault,” he mused. “It was foolish of me to think that you would so easily forget him. I should have known you would go back to him.”

He grabbed a fistful of my hair again and pulled at me. I slowly managed to stand up and closed my eyes when he turned his head to softly kiss my burning cheek; I flinched, for it hurt.

“Do you think you would remember who you belong to if I reminded you again, love? Do I need to remind you again?”

A cold fear seized me and I whimpered, realizing his meaning. I could not help it; another sob escaped my lips and he sneered in derision and shoved me forward so I was once again bent over the table. When I let out another little sob, he hissed, “Shut up. This is by your own doing. If you were not such a tremendous whore, we would not be here, would we?”

I dug my nails into my palms as he bent over to grab the hem of my dress. He yanked it up and ran his hand up my leg, coming to a stop on my bare hip.

He muttered, “This time you will not forget so easily who it is that you belong to.”

I whimpered again as he kicked my legs apart and leaned forward to press himself against me. I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting the revulsion I could feel rising in my throat.

But then suddenly, Valdrlund stilled behind me and all was silent.

I slowly opened my teary eyes and managed to turn my head towards the door.

My heart seemed to leap into my throat.

Loki stood in the now open doorway.

He must have just come in, looking for me here when he had not found me in his chambers.

I lifted my head up, both relief and mortification enveloping me that Loki should see me like this. I could only imagine the scene laid out before him—me bent over the table, a sobbing mess, and skirts hiked up to my thighs and Valdrlund pressed up against me as he was.

But Loki was not looking at me. He was gazing at Valdrlund, his expression murderous. He did not say anything immediately, but came into the room and then stopped and stared. I am sure he wanted to attack Valdrlund; I could see it in the way his fists were clenched and how he was leaning slightly forward, body taut. But Valdrlund was a king and Loki could not lay a finger on him, even for me.

Loki’s voice was low and threatening. “Get off of her.”

Slowly, Valdrlund removed his hand from my hip and my dress fell back down to my ankles, but he kept his other hand on my back, keeping me pressed down to the table.

Valdrlund said tightly, “This does not concern you, Prince.”

Loki raised his eyebrows. I could tell he was tense, but he tried to appear nonchalant now. “Does it not? Because I am sure the queen would love to know why you are raping one of her former handmaidens.” His voice dropped. “Yet again.”

I felt Valdrlund subtly stiffen behind me, but he still did not move his hand.

“As I said before,” Valdrlund said darkly, and I could tell he was attempting to keep his voice steady, “this does not concern you.”

Loki took a step forward. “Perhaps you did not hear me the first time. Take your hands off of her.”

And then, much to my surprise, Valdrlund let me go. I immediately stood up and turned around, but Valdrlund did not look at me; his eyes were locked with Loki’s and they both looked ready to kill each other.

“Now. Get out,” Loki ordered, his voice brimming with anger.

Valdrlund did not immediately leave, though. He turned his head to look at me.

“Come, Stjarnavetr.”

I stared at him, my fingers tightly gripping the edge of the table behind me. He wanted me to follow him out? Did he still think I might go with him after everything?

But I found my voice and whispered feebly, “I am not going with you.”

He only looked at me, his cold blue gaze boring into mine. I felt tremendous fear, but I was frozen with it and could not move. He was boiling underneath, I could tell. I knew his tempers so well, but he would not lose it in front of Loki. If it was just me, he would have exploded and it would have been much worse than before. He would throw me against the furniture, kick me and beat me until I could not stand, but not with Loki here.

Valdrlund smiled, then, and it was razor thin and a sense of disquiet came over me.

As soon as Loki opened his mouth to urge Valdrlund to move along, Valdrlund moved. I saw his arm out of the corner of my eye, but I could not react in time. The back of his hand connected with the side of my head and he must have used his seidr to strengthen the blow, for there was a brutal, resounding crack, and I was flung sideways.

I landed hard on my side and my head snapped against the stone floor and everything went white. The pain seemed to momentarily shatter my vision; I saw nothing but stars and bursting light and I blinked hard, trying to not vomit for this painful throbbing in my head.

And then I felt something warm and sticky running down my face and into my eyes and I raised a shaky hand to wipe it away and saw that it was blood. I struggled to sit up, but my head was pounding and there was a ringing in my ear and my vision seemed to pulse.

Dizzily, I managed to lift my face.

Valdrlund was no longer standing where he had been; he was pinned against the far wall. Loki stood behind him and had Valdrlund’s left arm pinned tightly behind his back and was holding a seidr blade to his exposed throat. Even from here, I could tell by the angle of Valdrlund’s neck that Loki was pressing the blade dangerously deep into his flesh.

I could not see Loki’s expression, but I could hear his low voice through this ringing and he sounded utterly terrifying.

“—will leave now. You will not speak to her again or I will kill you. Do you understand?”

I blinked again, trying to further clear my vision, and saw Valdrlund clench his free hand into a fist on the wall, but then he made a small gasping sound. I assumed Loki had pressed the blade even deeper into his skin, for Valdrlund froze.

“Do you understand?” Loki growled menacingly.

I was surprised when I saw Valdrlund give a curt nod.

Loki did not move for a long moment. Finally, he violently released Valdrlund, who stood facing the wall. He irately straightened his clothing and then turned around. My eyes widened when I saw a thin line of red on his neck where Loki had had the blade pressed into the skin. Valdrlund walked past Loki, who was staring at him, and then as he walked past me, he glanced at me down on the floor. I looked up at him, tears swimming in my eyes, blood running down my face.

He looked like he meant to say something, but then looked back up and went on, exiting my chambers and leaving the door open.

Immediately, I felt hands on me and I nearly shrieked in fear, but it was Loki kneeling in front of me, his expression one of intense worry. I had hardly ever seen him look so. He put his hand on the side of my head, searching for the source of the blood, but I knew what it was. Valdrlund had been wearing a ring and when he had backhanded me, it had slashed into the side of my head and opened up a large gash. Now I could feel it stinging.

I stared into Loki’s eyes as he put both hands on either side of my head. I could feel the warmth of his seidr seeping into me and I slowly closed my eyes and expulsed a heavy breath. The swelling in my cheek, where Valdrlund had struck me multiple times, went down and the pounding in my head and the throbbing behind my eyes nearly immediately stopped.

A feeling of intense lethargy came over me and I nearly fell forward into Loki, but he caught me and the next moment he was lifting me up and cradling me in his arms. I held onto him, feeling faint, and buried my face between his neck and shoulder.

Moments later, he gently deposited me on the bed and held my face in his hands.

“Stjarna,” he murmured, his eyes flickering back and forth between mine. “Are you alright?”

I tried to nod, but could barely do so. He had sent too much seidr into me and I could barely focus on him as he worriedly repeated my name. He probably thought I was about to faint, which I felt like.

“Stjarna? Are you still hurting?”

I could only shake my head. I felt so incredibly drowsy.

I reached up and tried to hold onto him and I could feel fresh tears in my eyes. “Loki,” I whimpered, “stay with me, please, do not leave me…”

“Yes, shh,” he murmured, lifting up and gently prying my fingers off of him. “I am going to wipe the blood off.”

I reluctantly let him go and watched as he disappeared into my bath chamber. He was gone for only a moment before he reappeared, a wet cloth in hand. He went to shut the door first, but then came back to me and knelt by the bed. I closed my eyes and held onto his wrist as he tenderly dabbed at my face.

When he was finished, he ran his hand over my cheek and up to my temple, perhaps searching for any other cut or bruise he might have missed. When he found none, he laid the blood-stained cloth on the bedside table.

But I held onto his hand and miserably looked at him.

“I am sorry,” I whispered, my lips trembling. “I am so sorry, Loki…”

“No,” he said. He took my face in his hands and leaned forward to kiss me on the forehead. And then he kissed my nose and pressed his forehead to mine. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for.”

I closed my eyes, powerless to keep the tears from coming. I began softly crying, thinking how close Valdrlund had come again, and moved to wrap my arms around Loki. I pressed my cheek to his and managed to whisper tearfully, “Loki, will you hold me?”

Loki pulled back and I opened my eyes to look at him. He stared at me for only a moment before rising to his feet. He got into the bed with me and I gratefully let him enfold me in his arms. He kissed my forehead again and softly stroked my temple with his thumb as I quietly wept, every so often pausing to wipe my tears away.

When at last I had cried myself out, I moved closer to Loki, comforted by his warmth and the feel of his arms around me. In that moment, I did not care what had happened between us; all I knew was that I felt so incredibly safe in his arms, that Valdrlund could not touch me with Loki here.

I pressed my face into his chest and felt his strong heartbeat, a sound that had always been such a great comfort to me. I quickly fell asleep to its constant rhythm, unable to ponder the inevitable repercussions of the day’s events.

__

Valdrlund

I could have killed him.

Odin’s pathetic little stick of a son would have stood no chance against me if I had decided to end him, but it would not have been worth the trouble. Let the prince believe he had won; ultimately, I knew, all things would fall into my favor. Let him think he had won her back, let him think he had achieved some personal little victory against me.

I would bring it all crashing around his head soon enough.

I did not understand, though. Stjarnavetr had agreed to return to Vanaheim with me, but somehow the prince had been able to convince her to stay, despite my having threatened her father.

He was indeed struggling—I had not lied to her on that point. Shortly after Father had expulsed him from the palace, Andimódr had managed to support himself for a while, but then things had turned sour for him. In truth, there was not much more I could do to further demean him. He was managing to be a disappointment all his own, for he could not find work, and was dragging that wretched family of his even further down into privation.

I had known that Stjarnavetr would come back to me if I used her father against her, but that idiot son of Odin’s had managed to upset my plans, though I knew not how. What could he have told her to make her turn her back on her father, for surely that was it? But no… she would not do that to him.

And yet still it eluded me.

In the end, though, it would not matter. She was coming back with me whether she wished it or not. She would see reason, even if I had to force her.

I called an audience with the Allfather, knowing he would respond to my request immediately. However, he was still the Allfather—I would have to go to him.

But soon enough it was done and I sat across from him in his receiving chamber. I had healed my neck before seeing him, for his son had grazed me with his seidr blade, but nevertheless I saw Odin’s eyes linger on the droplets of blood dried on my clothes. 

I declined the wine he offered me and brusquely deflected his attempted banalities. He was being so courteous to me because I possessed something of his—a relic. He desperately wanted it back and would lower himself to cater to my every whim, even though I knew it irked him. And though I enjoyed dangling the relic in front of him, I was not currently interested in doing so; I wanted to get straight to the point.

“I am angered, Allfather.”

“And why is this?” he asked.

“There was a woman in your wife’s retinue, a Vana, with whom I have a past, you could say. She had agreed to accompany me back to Vanaheim. I believe your son spoke to you of it the other day?”

I saw a flicker of exasperation in his face.

“Yes,” he replied. “I decided that she would return with you since it was of her own choice.”

“Yes, well, your son continued to pick at it, Allfather. He has succeeded in keeping her from me and I am less than pleased about it.”

“Has he?” Odin mused, not looking surprised. I am sure he had expected his son to continue to stick his nose where it did not belong.

“I am not playing games here,” I remarked, causing him to glance at me. “My proposition is rather straightforward. You give me Stjarnavetr and Draupnir shall be returned to you.”

He stared carefully at me, perhaps gauging my sincerity, but I knew he would perform the exchange, for he greatly desired to once again possess Draupnir.

Draupnir—an enchanted ring forged by the beings of Nidavellir many thousands of years ago and gifted to Odin. The ring had been captured by Vanir forces during the Aesir-Vanir war and it had been kept locked away in Vanaheim for all this time, much to Odin’s provocation.

I remembered the first time I had seen the ring.

It had not been that long ago—only a couple of years.

I had been awoken in the night by Father, who insisted I accompany him on a little trip. I had been irritated at being woken, but he had told me to shut up, that there was a purpose to all of this. Annoyed, but unable to simply tell him no, I had quickly dressed and followed him. For some reason, he had looked rather distraught as he led me deep into the bowels of the palace, down into the darkness where I had never been.

There had been many twisting corridors and countless doors, none of which I had ever known to exist. But there was one door and it had been heavily guarded. Father said always it must be guarded, to never let it remain unprotected.

And he took me into the room, which was circular in design, and there had been nothing but a waist-high column in the center and upon it laid a single gold band.

I had rolled my eyes.

“What is this nonsense?” I had demanded. He had dragged me out of my bed for this?

But Father had only laughed, which then devolved into a sick, wet coughing. He had been very ill at the time, already so close to death. How he had managed to hold on for another year amazed me.

“Our forces captured this artifact during the war,” he had explained once he collected himself, tucking his blood-stained handkerchief back into his robe.

I had scoffed. Why our forces bothered to capture a simple piece of jewelry, and why Father was acting so odd about it all, confounded me.

He had growled at my dismissal.

“It is not just a ring, you fool,” he had snapped. “It is an enchanted ring, highly prized by the Allfather. Draupnir is its name. Odin wants it back, but he would not risk outright war for it, luckily for us.”

But I had never heard of Draupnir and did not care. I only wished to go back to my bed, but he ordered me to remain with him.

And then he had restlessly paced, wandering around the empty room, eyes darting about as if searching for invisible enemies who might wish to steal the ring. He had grown so suspicious in his later years, even of Mother and me. I had not been able to wait until the old bastard was dead.

Perhaps an hour later, as I had been cleaning my fingernails with a knife, he had exclaimed. I glanced up in irritation, having nearly cut my finger for his outburst, but he was leaning over the column in the center of the room, rheumy eyes wide and fingers gripping the edge of the stone.

“Valdrlund, come!” he had cried, holding his arm out.

I went up to him and stood there, gazing apathetically at the ring.

But then, to my immense surprise, the ring seemed to shine even brighter in the flickering torchlight and it began to drip gold, as if it was melting. The golden droplets collected and formed into another gold band right before our eyes, but Draupnir continued to drip, and it kept dripping and dripping until no longer did there only sit one ring upon the stone, but nine.

I stared at it, never having seen anything like it, never having suspected.

“Father, what is this?” I had asked, despite all he had told me before. I do not think I had taken his ramblings seriously. He was always apt to get excited over the simplest things.

He had picked up one of the rings and studied it in the firelight, his face a mask of awe.

“Every ninth night,” he had answered, “the ring produces eight more of the same size and weight.”

I had watched as he collected the eight copy rings and put them reverently into a silken bag he had brought with him. He then had stroked Draupnir, almost lovingly.

“What do you do with these rings?” I had inquired. But I had been dissatisfied with his answer: he only sold them or had them melted down.

“So what use is this?” I had asked him with disdain.

“No, you do not understand!” he had exclaimed, looking frantic, but he was right—I had not understood and still did not, for he had never explained it to me and I had yet to figure it out. He told me that night that I should never let it return to Asgard, that it belonged to Vanaheim now.

He had only mentioned the ring once or twice after that and only when we were completely alone. And then he had died and the ring had served me as it served him.

But now the ring would truly be of use to me.

Father would have kept the relic—perhaps would have died for it, what with the way he had been stroking it like a lover—but I was not so miserly as him. How he had seen wealth in that ring baffled me. What riches had it brought him, truly? A year’s worth of rings would barely produce enough melted gold to make a statue. Draupnir had been ours for thousands of years and yet I had never seen the evidence of its supposedly insurmountable wealth.

And so I simply did not care. It did not matter to me whether Vanaheim held the ring or not, for at the moment there was something far more precious that I desired.

I would trade this antique, nearly useless to me, for Stjarnavetr. Her warm body in my bed was worth more to me than that magic band and its enchanted drippings. Father would have been so disappointed in me, but I did not care in the least bit. He was not here anymore to control me.

And so the ring’s use to me now was leverage and leverage was exactly what I needed.

But Odin still looked hesitant, much to my surprise.

“The ring in exchange for the girl?” he said carefully.

“It is simple, is it not?”

His expression was one of bemusement. “You would give up Draupnir for a woman?”

“And you would do your son like this for a gold ring?” I responded coolly.

He stared at me for a long moment and then his gaze wandered off to the side and he appeared to be thinking on it. I knew, though, that he would agree to the terms. Stjarnavetr was inconsequential to him—as apparently was his son’s desires—just as Draupnir was inconsequential to me. And so I waited for his answer, which I knew would be in my favor.

When he did not answer me, though, I began to grow irritated. But I remained silent, feigning patience.

Finally, he looked at me, though I could hear the slight hesitance in his voice. “Very well. You may take the girl back to Vanaheim with you. When shall Draupnir be returned to Asgard?”

“We may perform the exchange before my departure, Allfather. I will have it sent for and then hand it to you myself.”

He nodded. “I am glad we have finally come to an agreement.”

I bowed my head and said with a cordial smile, “As am I, Allfather.”

After more superfluous pleasantries had been exchanged, I returned to the chambers that had been given to me for the duration of my stay here. I did not bother to summon Stjarnavetr—I suspected that the prince would be with her tonight—but would tomorrow. She would have no choice but to come back to Vanaheim with me, for she could not disobey the order of her king. And soon enough, I would be her king.

The thought of having her again thrilled me. How I desired to adorn her as only befitting the lover of a king. Before, when I had only been the crown prince, I did not have as much liberty with her with Father constantly breathing down my neck, but now that he was dead I could do as I wished.

I would give her larger, grander chambers, have her dress much more sumptuously and make her stop wearing those drab, modest things she liked; I would garland her in jewels, have her lying so bedecked and beautiful in my bed once again.

I would try to be better for her, for I had lost her once and with her my son she had carried. I still often thought of the child that had been lost. I knew Stjarnavetr would have made a wonderful mother and do not think that I would have hesitated to take her as my wife had Father not been there to refuse, but there would be no point in marrying her now, what with her barrenness. But I could still keep her as my mistress. I would not—could not—lose her again; I was resolved that upon our return to Vanaheim, everything would change.

But she was making it incredibly difficult for me to honor my personal resolution. If only she would not disobey me, if only she would stop, then I would not have to punish her. This would be the last time she disobeyed me, though; I would make her forget him somehow, drive him from her mind. There would be none but me to have her, none but me to possess her, none but me to ever fill her mind and her body.

I thought of this as I sat in front of my fire, a cup of wine in my hand. I began to grow heated just thinking of him and her and remembered how angry I had been in Vanaheim when I had first learned that she had whored herself out to the youngest prince of Asgard.

I had not believed it at first. My Stjarnavetr would not do that, surely.

But it was the truth.

I had been repulsed upon meeting Prince Loki for the first time, knowing that he had lain with her, and I could tell by his expression that the repulsion was mutual. And then Stjarnavetr had tried to tell me she was not lying with him—she had actually dared to lie to me! He had not been good for her, he had changed her and I did not like it.

But Stjarnavetr and I were still bound in many ways, despite her time with him. She had carried my son, for however brief a time, and she had been mine for a century. And soon she would be mine again and all would be as it was supposed to be.

Then we could truly be happy.


	46. Part I - Chapter 46

Loki

I could not stop thinking of it.

Just this morning, Father had summoned both Thor and I to Gladsheim. There was to be another banquet in a few days for Valdrlund, since he was leaving, and Father had lectured us on behaving. I suspected it was because he knew that tensions had been high as of late. It had been a fairly useless meeting, nonetheless, and I had not taken any of his threats into serious consideration.

Afterwards, I had gone to Mother’s chambers. Stjarna, who I had left in my rooms, had wished to know if any news had come from her father in Vanaheim. I was surprised, and simultaneously displeased, to learn that Stjarna had been here before me, but had left recently. Mother related to me the same news she had to Stjarna and so I had returned to my rooms, expecting to find her there.

But she was not.

I had wondered where she could be, more upset than anything at how blatantly she had ignored my request that she stay in my chambers. Did she not know that I only wanted her safe? It made me nervous to think of her wandering around the palace with Valdrlund here.

The only other place I had known to look was in her chambers, though I knew not why she would be there.

But I had gone anyway and found her—and him.

I had opened the door and stopped short at the sight before me.

Stjarna had been bent over the table, face turned away from me and fists clenched, and Valdrlund was holding her down. Her skirts had been pulled up to her thighs and he had been going to undo his pants, but when I entered he had gone still. Not a moment later, Stjarna had turned her face to look at me. Her cheek, an angry red, had been swollen and there was blood in the corner of her mouth. It was evident that he had struck her.

This nauseatingly overwhelming combination of both rage and fear had immediately welled up inside me, but I would not do anything sudden with him holding her as he was.

I had come just in time, but still far too late.

I had threatened him with telling the queen and that had seemed to make him reluctant to continue. Eventually, Valdrlund had released her, but then struck her when she refused to follow him out. As soon as the back of his hand had connected with the side of her head and I heard that horrible cracking sound, indicative of his seidr, I was upon him.

I had moved so quickly and shoved him so hard that he had stumbled and I managed to throw him against the far wall. At the same time, I had heard Stjarna’s head snap against the stone floor. I had pinned Valdrlund’s arm behind him and clenched my fist to form a seidr blade. I had then held the knife of green energy to his throat, wanting to drag it across his neck and feel the life drain out of him, but the consequences of doing so would have been simply unimaginable, for both Stjarna and I…

And so I had only threatened him. I had told him that he would not see Stjarna again, nor speak to her, or I would kill him. He had probably known that I would not actually be capable of doing so, what with his position as king, but in that moment, I had been nearly blind with rage and had been holding a sharp blade to his exposed throat.

He had sneered, as if my threat only amused him.

But I had not been playing games; I had pressed the blade even deeper into his skin and drawn blood. He had stiffened and it was then when he had nodded in assent. I had let him go and he had looked at me as if he wished to kill me, but I had been unwavering.

As soon as he had left, I had gone to Stjarna.

She had been on the floor, blood flowing freely down the side of her head, dyeing her gold hair red, dripping down her neck and staining the collar of her dress. I had frantically searched for the cause and found a large cut on the side of her head, most likely made from one of Valdrlund’s rings.

I quickly healed her, hardly noticing in that moment that I did not even murmur the runes, and then she had looked as if she was about to faint. I had taken her up in my arms and laid her gently on her bed, not wishing to disconcert her even more than she already was.

Stjarna had hung onto me and begged me not to leave her. I had assured her I would not leave her and gone to wet a cloth. I had cleaned the blood off of her and studied her face as I did so, feeling such regret, but Stjarna had apologized to me instead, looking on the verge of tears. I had felt some surprise when she had wrapped her arms around me and held me close and asked me to hold her. I had unthinkingly obliged and gotten into the bed with her.

And now here she lay against me.

I was lying on my back and she was curled into my side, one arm slung over my middle and one leg over mine. She had draped herself over me like this in her sleep, but I had not moved to wake her. I had not seen her look so peaceful in such a long time and felt relief that I could at least comfort her in her sleep, if in no other way.

In the quietness of the room, in this seeming tranquility, it almost felt as if nothing had ever torn us apart. It was almost as if Valdrlund had never come to Asgard and put her through all of this, almost as if we were still together and everything was good.

I absentmindedly stroked her hair as I reflected on all of this, knowing that it would not be long before she awoke, for her sudden stupor had been mostly in part to my seidr. I knew when she awoke, she would pull away from me and perhaps apologize again; the only reason she could bear to touch me now, or as she had yesterday, was because she was so distressed.

I wondered what we would do when she awoke, but did not have to think long on it. I would take her back to my rooms. I had seen where she had laid a small pile of clothes on her dressing table. That was why she had come here, because she had planned on staying with me as I had asked…

Finally, Stjarna awoke. She murmured something and pressed her face into me before lifting her head and opening her eyes. She blinked, as if just realizing her position, and then moved away from me. She looked away, appearing ashamed, and went to slip off the bed.

“Stjarna?”

She paused to look at me, hesitantly meeting my eyes.

I moved to sit next to her on the edge of the bed and gently took her chin in my fingers. Her eyes drifted down as I lifted her head. I slowly ran my fingers up to her cheek, remembering how viciously he had struck her. I did not even wish to think of what he had done to her the nights she had been with him, what she had allowed him to do to her.

I leaned forward and embraced her. I buried my face in between her neck and shoulder and held her tightly. She seemed surprised at first, but quickly relaxed in my arms.

When I pulled back, I made her look at me. “Stjarna, listen to me.”

Her eyes flickered up to meet mine.

“If anybody ever touches you, you fight back. Do you understand me?”

She stared at me and I remembered how she had just been lying there. Had she fought back against him at all? But then I recalled the state of her face and reasoned she probably could not have done it even if she wanted to, especially against him, but still…

“If any man ever tries to lay a finger on you, you defend yourself any way you can, even with your seidr.”

“Alright, Loki,” she whispered.

“Do you understand?” I reiterated seriously, searching her eyes.

“Yes.”

I embraced her again. It made me sick to even imagine if I had not come when I had, if I had only been another minute… gods, I did not even wish to think of it.

“Loki?” Stjarna asked, somewhat in worry.

I kissed the top of her shoulder and murmured, “I was so afraid, Stjarna… I thought…”

“You were afraid?” she whispered.

“Yes,” I admitted, finally letting her go. “I was angry when you were not in my chambers, but when I came here, I thought I was too late when I opened the door…” my voice trailed off. I looked down and shook my head and my voice became harder. “Gods, how I wanted to kill him. I was so close to it, Stjarna. I wanted to kill him, I could have done it.”

She stared uneasily at me.

“He deserves to die for what he did to you,” I stated plainly, “He deserves to die for everything he’s done. For what he’s put you through.”

Stjarna glanced down at her hands in her lap and I realized that I had made her uncomfortable, but I would not apologize for my words. I had meant every single one of them.

I stood up and said, “I want us to go back to my rooms.”

Stjarna nodded and rose to follow me. I collected the clothes she had put on her dressing table and draped them over my arm. Once she was ready, she silently followed me out. She walked closely beside me the entire way, attempting to hide the bright red blood in her hair in case we were to see another, but we did not and not a word was spoken between us as we walked.

When we made it to my rooms, I was somewhat surprised when Stjarna took some of her clothes from me and immediately went to my bath chamber, shut the door, and locked it.

I laid her other things out on my table and wondered what to do. But all there was to do, really, was to wait for news from Vanaheim. As long as I could keep Stjarna from him, everything else would eventually fall into place.

Stjarna stayed in my bath chamber for a long time. I heard her draw a bath and later thought I heard her weeping, but could not be sure. I wanted to ask her through the door if she was alright, but I knew she was not and suspected she would simply tell me to go away. When she finally emerged, I was relieved to see her hair free of blood, but dismayed to see her eyes red where she had been crying.

But I did not say anything further and we spent the rest of the day in my rooms. Normally, I would have gone to my lessons, but with recent events I would try to not leave Stjarna alone again. I am sure if Mother knew all that had transpired, she would understand my neglecting my lessons.

I had supper brought to my chambers and Stjarna and I dined in near silence. I wished to speak to her, if only to try to ease her unquestionable inner turmoil, but it was evident that she did not wish to converse.

And so when after we had eaten a small meal and she immediately wished to sleep, I wordlessly followed suit.

__

The next morning, I was awoken by a frantic knocking in my main room.

I stumbled off of my couch, half-naked, and went to my door and threw it open.

It was Father’s page, Sendimadr; he was the one who had come to fetch me the day before.

“What is it?” I said irritably.

“The Allfather demands your presence immediately, Your Highness.”

“What for?”

Sendimadr shook his head. “I know not. He is waiting in Gladsheim.”

“Is Thor coming as well?”

“No, Your Highness. Just you.”

I sighed. “Give me a moment.”

Sendimadr nodded before scurrying away. I shut my door and when I walked back into my bedchamber, I saw that Stjarna was sitting up in my bed, studying me warily.

“I am summoned again,” I said.

“I heard,” she responded quietly. “I will not leave your chambers this time.”

I would have smiled in some amusement, but did not for the events of the day before.

And so I quickly dressed and though hesitant, but trusting she would do as she said, left Stjarna in my rooms. I made my way to Gladsheim, almost suspecting that it would be like yesterday when Father had summoned me, but was not sure because Thor was not going to be there and Sendimadr had seemed slightly anxious. But I did not give too much thought to it; I only wished to get back to Stjarna as soon as possible.

Once admitted into Gladsheim, I saw Father standing by his throne and with him Mother. She was talking to him, pleading with him it almost appeared, but he was shaking his head.

As I walked forward, suddenly feeling uneasy, I noticed that the hall was completely empty of people except for a few guards along the wall. Usually there were courtiers here, but apparently Father had dismissed them all to meet with me.

When Mother noticed me, she abruptly stopped talking and Father glanced up.

I stopped at the base of the stone steps that led up to the throne and looked up at Father.

He sighed and sat down and I saw Mother twist her fingers together in nervousness. The gesture reminded me of Stjarna and I felt apprehension.

“Father?” I ventured.

“I am disappointed in you, though I expected this.”

I glanced briefly at Mother, not entirely sure what he was talking about.

“I told you,” he said, slightly raising his voice so I would look back at him, “to keep out of it.”

“What are you—”

“The woman!” he snapped, and suddenly I understood what this was about. “That Vana! I told you, Loki, to not interfere. King Valdrlund came to me yesterday and related to me how you have kept her from him.”

I pressed my lips together. I wondered if Valdrlund had also related to Father how he had beaten Stjarna and been about to rape her. I highly doubted it.

But I would not shy away from this.

I straightened up and said audaciously, “I also held a knife to his throat and will do worse if he keeps at it.”

Both Father and Mother stared at me.

Father leaned forward slightly, as if he had not heard me correctly. “You did what?”

I said slowly and loudly, enunciating each word, “I held a knife to his throat and threatened to kill him if he spoke to her again.”

Father closed his eye and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. He ignored my previous statement, probably having wanted to ignore it, and continued, “I have made a deal, of sorts, with the king. I have decided that the Vana will return to Vanaheim.”

“But she does not will it,” I stated, for some reason thinking that might end the matter.

“It matters not,” Father countered brusquely, lifting his head up to look at me. “I will it.”

I stared at him, lips parted in surprise. My eyes flickered over to Mother, who looked sorry.

“I do not understand,” I remarked, having lost my haughty tone.

Now Father sighed. “I have decided that the Lady Stjarnavetr will accompany King Valdrlund back to Vanaheim and I am advising you to stay out of it, Loki.”

I did not know what to say. I had not believed that he would actually do it, that he would force her to go back. What did he care if she stayed here in Asgard? I knew he did not like her, but surely he would not simply make her go? To what end?

“Why?” I demanded, taking a step forward. “Why are you doing this?”

“Her return to Vanaheim will benefit Asgard—”

“How?!” I nearly shouted, clenching my fists.

He stared coolly at me. “Vanaheim holds an object of much importance to Asgard and King Valdrlund has agreed to return the relic and in turn—”

Did he mean he had traded Stjarna for an object? A relic?

“What relic?”

“It is…” he hesitated, searching for the right words, “…an ancient, enchanted item. Nothing more. But the fact is, Loki, she was exiled from Vanaheim. Your mother took her in, which was charitable on her part, but now King Valdrlund has offered Lady Stjarnavetr a place in Vanaheim once again. It is best she return to her home.”

I gritted my teeth, not even knowing how to respond to this nonsense.

“I assume she is with you, is she not?” he inquired, already knowing the answer. “Well… it is time she returns to King Valdrlund.”

I could feel the anger rising like a wave inside me. It was not as if I could tell Father that his most noble friend Valdrlund of Vanaheim had beaten Stjarna and raped her in his time here. Would he even care? But no, he would not. He had traded her for some magical object I had never even heard of.

“She will not return to him,” I declared. “I will not allow it.”

Father raised his eyebrows. His voice was soft. “You will not allow it?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mother give a little shake of her head. She had always warned me against speaking so impudently to Father.

He leaned forward and his voice was low, but it grew louder and louder with each word until he was shouting. “I will tell you something, Loki. If you have failed to notice, it is I who sit on this throne. Not you. I am king of Asgard and will not be flouted by some lovesick boy!”

“Husband,” Mother said suddenly, her soft voice slicing through this nearly palpable tension.

Both Father and I looked at her. She seemed perfectly composed, unlike us.

“It would not do well to discuss this when both of you look ready to rip each other’s throats out.” She looked at Father and then at me, her gaze hard. “Let us discuss this diplomatically.”

“Frigga, the boy is a fool,” Father growled. “He is going to endanger Aesir-Vanir relations for a woman.”

Mother shook her head. “If only you would allow her to remain—”

“Stop,” he said abruptly, cutting her off. “I have heard enough of this.”

Mother fell silent and I could tell she was displeased with Father, but he did not care.

I slowly lowered my gaze and stared ahead. Perhaps if I pleaded with him and did not act so petulant, he would consider my position.

My voice was quieter, but still slightly shaky for my anger. “Please, Father, do not do this.”

“There is no other way,” he answered tersely.

“What do you mean?” I said, already finding it difficult to keep my voice down.

“You are the prince of Asgard,” he responded flatly. “It is most unseemly for you to be running around with this Vana harlot, anyway. It is for the best.”

“But—”

“What if she were to become with child?” he snapped.

I pressed my lips together, feeling a hot flush spread through me.

“That is impossible,” I said tightly. “Lady Stjarnavetr is barren, courtesy of King Valdrlund.”

He looked surprised for only a moment before he was at it again.

“Nonetheless,” he persisted, his tone now radiating disgust, “this has gone too far, Loki. I had thought that this would simply be a passing fancy, as so many of the others…”

But before I could even truly consider what I was saying, the words so carelessly slipped out.

“And what of the women you keep?”

Father stiffened and Mother turned to look at me, disbelief etched onto her face.

Immediately I felt regret, but only because Mother was standing there.

While Father did not go through women as I had used to, he still would occasionally keep one on the side for a time. Though he loved my mother, that had never kept him from straying. But had I not essentially done the same to Stjarna? Despite having repressed my true feelings for her for so long, had I not treated her as my father treated my mother?

The resemblance now nearly sickened me as I stared up at him in what only felt like hatred.

But before I could even attempt to rescind my words—for Mother’s sake—Father exploded.

“Enough!” he roared, jumping to his feet.

Mother turned away. I could tell she did not like how he was being, but in this state she would not dare to interrupt him. 

I clamped my mouth shut as he came down the steps and stood angrily in front of me.

His tone was contemptuous. “You have wasted enough time with this woman, Loki. She is naught but a whore.”

I barely managed to bite back a retort.

Father scoffed, turned around, and shook his head. “I did not think it would come to this. I thought it would be Thor, I did not expect it to be you. I thought you above it.”

“Thought me above what?” I sneered, no longer able to hold back.

He turned on me and glared, his voice dripping with disdain. “Love.”

I did not deny it; I only gazed levelly at him.

“She is nothing, Loki,” Father said, his voice softer now. “You are young, you think you know what love is, but you do not. When she is gone, you will see clearly.”

But he did not understand. I wondered if he had ever loved another as I loved Stjarna. Did he love Mother as I loved Stjarna? Had he ever?

“You are acting like a boy,” he derided. “This is nothing more than some petty love affair that has gone on for far too long. Your judgment is clouded, you do not see what I see.”

“And what is it that you see, Father?” I challenged.

He glowered at me and his words held some sense of profundity. “Many things.”

And then he began slowly making his way back up the steps. He sat down heavily on the throne and gazed down at me.

“You cannot see now, but when she is gone you will.”

My eyes drifted over to Mother, who was still looking at me, almost regretfully.

Father noticed and said, as if in afterthought, “Frigga does not agree with my decision, but it does not matter what she thinks or what you think, Loki. I am king here. You are my son and I do love you, but that does not change that you are still under my rule. I spoke to you just now as your father, but I speak to you now as your king. You will do as I say and if you continue to interfere with these dealings between King Valdrlund and myself, there will be consequences. Do you understand me?”

I could only stare up at him, my entire body on fire with rage.

“Yes,” I bit out.

“Good,” he remarked, sounding bored. “Leave.”

I turned on my heel and stormed out of the hall.

Once in my rooms, I slammed the door forcefully behind me.

Stjarna, who had been standing by my table, flinched at my raucous arrival.

“Loki?” she asked, sounding worried.

I ran a trembling hand through my hair. I wanted to break something, I wanted to scream, but Stjarna was gazing at me with careful eyes.

“Loki? What is wrong? What did the Allfather want?”

“He… he…” I looked at her and could hardly stand to say it. “He’s traded you…”

She looked at me oddly. “What do you mean?”

“He’s giving you to Valdrlund in exchange for some… Asgardian relic…”

Stjarna’s eyes widened. “A relic? Valdrlund mentioned a relic. He would not tell me what it was, but he said the Allfather wanted it desperately.”

And suddenly, I realized what had happened. Father had wanted whatever it was that Valdrlund possessed and had not been above trading Stjarna for it. Valdrlund must have gone to Father after the incident in her chambers the day before and they had decided then.

“Skapgódr came here,” Stjarna said suddenly, sounding nervous. “While you were gone.”

Immediately, I felt defensive. “Who?”

“Skapgódr. He is Valdrlund’s page,” Stjarna explained, her voice trembling. “Valdrlund summoned me, he knew I was here, Loki. He wanted me to come to him, but I said no. I do not want to go back to him.”

“I know,” I said. “You’re not going back.”

“But the Allfather commands it?”

“Yes, but I won’t let it happen, Stjarna, you must believe me.”

“But how can you fight him?” she cried.

And then I was in front of her, enfolding her in my arms.

I could not respond to her, though, for even I did not know the answer.

__

Stjarna lay in my bed asleep and I sat in front of my fire. I could not sleep.

I hardly knew what to think. I did not know how Father could do this, how he could trade her for a relic. I would never have thought he would do something like this. He knew Stjarna and I had once been lovers, he knew that I cared for her, and now it was obvious he suspected of my deeper feelings for her, what with his comments earlier.

But none of it mattered to him. He viewed that sort of stuff with disdain, as I once had…

Slowly, I looked over towards my bed and gazed despondently at Stjarna’s sleeping form.

It still felt odd to admit to myself that I was in love with her, but I could feel it so strongly. I had for such a long time felt this, but had either not recognized it for what it was or had simply refused to. Father had been right in that respect, though; at one point, I had thought myself above such sentimentality, but now could not deny it.

Thor had told me that there was no point to love, that its only purpose was to make you happy, but it was not happiness I felt, but only this abysmal sense of despair. I wished that I had not treated Stjarna so badly. She had deserved nothing I had done and she had not deserved anything Valdrlund had done. I wished I had told her I loved her that night. I wanted her to know that she was not unloved, that it should not have turned out like this, but there was no point in wishing. Would there have even been a point in telling her with everything that was going on? She probably would not even believe me.

I tore my eyes away from Stjarna.

I did not want to think of this anymore.

I stood up and walked over to my couch. Just as I went to pull my tunic off, there came a soft knock on my door in the other room.

I went to it, anger already bubbling up inside me. I thought it might be Sendimadr again, or perhaps Valdrlund’s page that Stjarna had said came here earlier, but it was not.

“Fulla?”

Fulla was Mother’s eldest handmaiden. She and Mother were around the same age and had been friends for millennia. I had spent much time with her as a child and there was no other that Mother trusted more, I knew. Her presence could only mean one thing, for I did not think Mother would send anybody else for such a purpose.

I turned around and called Stjarna’s name.

A few moments later, Stjarna appeared hesitantly in the doorway to my bedchamber.

“Come,” I said. “Mother has news.”

Stjarna immediately came forward, not even bothering to change out of her nightgown, but it was unlikely we would see anybody else at this time of night. We followed Fulla through the darkened corridors to Mother’s chambers.

“What is the news?” I inquired.

Fulla shook her head. “The messenger only just arrived from Vanaheim. I do not think the queen has even read the letter. She is leaving that for Lady Stjarnavetr.”

When we finally reached Mother’s chambers, Fulla allowed Stjarna to enter first. Mother’s receiving chamber was poorly lit, but I saw that she stood near her fireplace and next to her a young man. He looked travel-worn, but smiled and bowed his head when we entered.

“Loki, Stjarnavetr,” Mother said, extending her arm and directed for us to come nearer.

She held an unopened letter in her hand.

“It is from Stjarnavetr’s father,” she explained, handing the paper to Stjarna. She indicated the man next to her. “Vindr has only just returned from Vanaheim. He came straight here.”

Stjarna hastily broke the seal and unfolded the paper. I noticed that her hands were shaking and felt trepidation watching her. I prayed that the news was good, for I could not imagine how it would break her if Andimódr were not to come.

“Oh, Loki,” Stjarna whispered.

My heart fell for her, but then she looked up at me and there were tears in her eyes and she was smiling.

“He is coming! He says is he is coming as quickly as possible.”

I grinned, feeling such happiness for her, but then her smile slowly fell and she turned to Mother.

“But the Allfather…” she looked back down at the letter and I could barely hear her. “He says I must go back to Vanaheim.”

“Something must be done,” I said immediately, glancing at Mother. “She cannot go back with Valdrlund.”

Mother looked apologetic. “I spoke with your father before, Loki, and I spoke to him after you left Gladsheim this morning, but he will not be deterred.”

I made a sound of frustration. “What even is it? This relic?”

She appeared reluctant, but finally said, “Draupnir.”

“What is that?”

“It is a magic ring forged by the dwarves. It was gifted to your father thousands of years ago and it was precious to him, but it was lost during the war.”

“He is trading Stjarna for a ring?” I exclaimed.

I turned away from them and raked my fingers through my hair.

As I roamed about, trying to think, I could hear Stjarna speaking to Mother. Apparently, Andimódr would be here within a few days. He would need some time in Vanaheim to prepare, but would try to be as swift as possible. It was evident he realized the urgency of the situation; Mother must have done a very good job of describing Stjarna’s peril.

“I will inform Heimdall,” Mother told Stjarna, trying to comfort her. “I will have him keeping a constant eye out for your father.”

I heard Stjarna thank Mother and Fulla, as well as the messenger, who left shortly after. Mother and Stjarna continued to speak in hushed tones, but I was wandering around Mother’s chambers, my mind racing.

I was trying to figure out a way to keep Stjarna here. Surely Father would not forcibly remove her? But then had I not also thought that he would not force her to go back to Vanaheim? I thought of how angry he would be when he found out both Mother and I had conspired to bring Stjarna’s family here.

But I did not care.

He may have been king of Asgard and it may have been his will that she return, but I would not allow it to happen.

We left Mother’s chambers shortly after and once back in my rooms, Stjarna could not tear herself away from the letter. She knelt by the fireplace on the floor and would run her fingers along the lines, mouthing the words to herself. She must have read it a hundred times.

I knew what it said, for she had allowed me to read it once before taking it back to study it.

Andimódr had accepted the queen’s invitation to come to Asgard and live. He said things were not good in Vanaheim—for him, at least—and that if Stjarna was in trouble, he would come immediately. He spoke of his love for her and how he prayed all would be well when he came. He had also mentioned his wife, Konavefr, and their son, Réttrmund.

I sat and watched her; she was hunched over the letter and a few times I even saw her wipe her eyes.

“He speaks of Réttrmund,” she said softly, raising her head to look at me. “I hope I get to meet him. My brother…”

“You will,” I assured, trying to comfort her.

It looked as if she did not believe me, though; she turned her attention back to the letter, her expression forlorn. She gently folded it up before rising to her feet. And then, much to my surprise, she came over to the side of my chair and knelt next to me. She lightly placed one of her hands over mine on the armrest.

“Loki?” she whispered. She glanced down, appearing unsure of herself. When she finally looked back up at me, I could see the tears caught in her lashes. “If I must return to Vanaheim, I just want you to know that I am very grateful for what you have done for me. I will not forget it.”

I twined my fingers with hers, but she did not pull her hand away.

“Stjarna, you’re not going back—”

But she shook her head, effectively cutting me off.

And then she lifted up and I closed my eyes as she pressed her lips to my cheek. She curled her fingers tighter with mine and I turned my head slightly, feeling her warm breath soft on my skin. Just as my lips brushed against hers, and I felt a warmth spread through me, she quickly pulled away and stood up and I slowly opened my eyes to look up at her. It seemed as if she wished to say something more and I hoped desperately that she would, but instead she turned around and made her way towards my bed.

I stared after her, not knowing what to feel. Part of me wished to comfort her and tell her all would be well and another part of me wished to take her in my arms and kiss her and tell her I loved her, but there was a little part of me saying no, we were past that. I had missed my chance the night she had told me she loved me and now it was too late.

There were more important things going on at the moment, anyway.

Once all of this was done and her family here in Asgard and Valdrlund gone, then perhaps…

But now I stood up and went to my couch, trying to banish these thoughts.

The logical part of me told me that we would never get back to how we had been, that Stjarna would never trust me as she once had, but still there was that hopeful part of me, nagging at me, telling me that maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance for us.

__

Stjarnavetr

The first thing I did upon waking the next morning was to reread my father’s letter. I traced his handwriting with my fingertips and imagined him writing it. I was so relieved that he was coming here, but I also felt despair.

I did not know how I would escape this fate that the Allfather had chosen for me. In spite of what Loki said, I knew he could not keep me here if his father truly wished me gone. And even if Father came to Asgard, what would the Allfather care? He would still force me to accompany Valdrlund back to Vanaheim.

I think that was a part of the reason I had kissed Loki the night before.

He had been watching me as he often did when he did not think I was looking. Usually he appeared to be deep in thought, but last night he had looked almost penitent.

I had been thinking of my father and how despite his coming here, it was unlikely I would be allowed to remain in Asgard. I had grown melancholy, thinking that all of this had been for nothing, and then I had begun thinking of Loki and all he had done for me, even though we were not together anymore.

It was a very real possibility that Loki and I might never see each other again and just the thought of that pained me, even with everything he had done to me. Though I had tried so hard to feel nothing for him, I had never been able to completely rid myself of these feelings for him. I had pushed my love for him to the very depths of my heart, not wanting to acknowledge that I could feel anything for him but hatred. How hard I had tried to hate him, how difficult he had now made it…

No matter how I had tried to tamp these feelings down, no matter how I did not want to feel them, they were once again rising to the surface, especially in light of the events of yesterday.

I wanted to thank Loki for all he had done, even if in the end it would not be enough.

And so I had kissed him.

I had not expected him to respond as he did, I had not expected the brief touch of his lips against mine to send such a powerful rivulet of heat through my body, straight to my toes. I had quickly pulled away from him, fearing to go any further, too afraid to even speak, and gone straight to bed, berating myself for attempting something so stupid.

But now I could think of nothing else but our kiss, if it could even be called that. I lay there for a long time, staring unseeingly at my father’s letter, until Loki awoke.

I sat up in the bed and pulled my legs up beneath the covers and stared at him as he ran his hand over his face.

“Loki?”

He had just stood up and was pulling his tunic on. “Yes?”

“Could you have breakfast brought here?” I asked quietly.

He nodded. “Of course.”

Just then, somebody knocked on his door.

Loki cursed under his breath and I felt apprehension. 

“If it is Sendimadr,” he threatened as he went to the door, “I am going to tell him to fuck off.”

I quickly got out of the bed and went to stand in the doorway to his bedchamber to watch him answer the door.

When Loki opened the door, he scowled and I assumed it was indeed Sendimadr.

“Tell him I refuse to see him,” Loki said quickly, not even allowing Sendimadr to get a word out.

“But Your Highness!” Sendimadr cried as Loki went to shut the door. “It is not you he has called upon. It is the Lady Stjarnavetr.”

Loki paused and turned his head to look at me.

“The Allfather summons me?” I whispered.

Loki glanced back at Sendimadr. “He wants her?”

“Yes, he is waiting with King Valdrlund in Gladsheim.”

At the mention of Valdrlund’s name, Loki scoffed and slammed the door shut.

And so I was beyond surprised when he snapped, “Get dressed.”

“What?”

“Put something on,” he ordered.

“Where are we going?”

“We are going to Gladsheim. I am going to end this once and for all.”

“What?” I repeated worriedly.

He was walking past me, but stopped to look at me. “I am going to tell Father—and Valdrlund—one last time that they shall not have you. You are coming, too.”

“I don’t know—”

“Do you think I would let either of them touch you?”

“No,” I finally said.

He smiled at me and it looked so odd.

“Good. Let us go.”

Soon we were headed towards Gladsheim. Loki walked with a purpose in his step and determination in his eyes, but I felt nothing but unease. I was not as confident as Loki and almost feared what he might do.

Once we were admitted into Gladsheim, I swallowed when I saw the Allfather sitting on his throne and Valdrlund standing at the base of the steps, off to the side. He had been slowly pacing, but when he heard the doors open, he looked up.

I felt a bloom of fear in the pit of my stomach when he scowled, but trusted that Loki would not allow him to touch me.

I saw the Allfather slowly shake his head when he caught sight of Loki. I am sure they had hoped I would show up alone, for the Allfather, I realized, was basically orchestrating my being handed over to Valdrlund.

The Allfather sighed and said, “I summoned Lady Stjarnavetr, Loki. Not you.”

“And yet suspecting your intentions, I saw fit to come,” Loki responded coolly, coming to a stop at the base of the steps. I stood next to him and gazed warily at Valdrlund, who was staring at me, lips pressed tightly together.

The king leaned forward slightly. “Did I not tell you to stay out of this?”

“Yes, but you know I do not listen very well.”

Suddenly, Valdrlund scoffed and glanced up to look at the Allfather. “I care not for these games. I will have what was promised to me.”

The Allfather gave a small nod, continuing to stare at Loki.

Valdrlund looked towards me, the corner of his lips twitching upwards into a smile. “Come, Stjarnavetr.”

I stared at him and shook my head. My voice was small. “No… no, I do not want to go back with you.”

I saw him subtly stiffen.

“Come,” he said again. “Do not be like this.”

I shook my head again, though did not say anything.

Irritation flickered over his face and he took a step towards me, but before I could even move, Loki quickly put himself between Valdrlund and me. At the same time, out of the corner of my eye, I saw some of the guards standing by the wall also take a step forward, their hands flying to the hilts of their swords.

Though Loki was disobeying the Allfather, the Einherjar were still sworn to protect those of the royal family and despite Valdrlund being a king, he was still a foreigner and a potential risk to Loki’s person. I wondered if Valdrlund were to attack Loki, would the Einherjar actually go so far as to injure or kill him?

Valdrlund also noticed the movement of the Einherjar and abruptly stopped, his face twisted in anger. Loki stood unflinchingly and I had no doubt that he would gladly invite an attack from Valdrlund, for it would give him an excuse to injure him as he so desperately wished to.

But before anybody could get any further, the Allfather leapt to his feet and shouted, “Stop!”

His voice echoed throughout the hall and both Loki and Valdrlund stilled, but continued to glower at each other.

“Loki,” the Allfather stressed. “Stand aside. Do not make me summon a guard.”

I swallowed hard. Would he have an Einheri to drag me away from Loki?

“I will not,” Loki said defiantly, not breaking eye contact with Valdrlund.

“This is none of your concern—”

“It is my concern,” Loki snapped, now allowing himself to glance briefly at the king. He then looked back to Valdrlund, whose fists were clenched at his sides. “While I breathe, he shall not touch her.”

I had not torn my eyes away from Valdrlund during the entire exchange and when he looked at me, it sent an involuntary shiver through me. His lips were set in a thin, hard line, and his frigid blue gaze was penetrating.

The king and Loki were going back and forth now, but I could not discern their words, I was no longer paying attention; I could only gaze at Valdrlund, who also was not paying attention to the king and his son’s bickering. I moved behind Loki even more, hating how Valdrlund was looking at me, and his eyes narrowed at the movement. His lips curled upwards in a tight, humorless smile.

Suddenly, he looked up towards the Allfather, who by now was growing red in the face.

“Very well, Allfather,” he stated.

Both the king and Loki glanced at Valdrlund in surprise.

“I can see that the exchange shall be made impossible, since you obviously have no control over your son. In truth, I would not doubt some sort of scheme against me, but I refuse to be deceived so, especially when here as an honored guest in a supposedly friendly realm.”

The Allfather went to protest Valdrlund’s allegations, but Valdrlund cut him off.

“And so it seems there is no point in my remaining here. I shall depart Asgard shortly, once all of my things are in order. You may also expect revisions to be made to the treaty on our end.” He paused. “And there is no need to worry, Allfather. Draupnir shall remain well protected in Vanaheim.”

The Allfather slowly sank down onto his throne, appearing defeated, but did not say anything.

Valdrlund slowly walked up to Loki, who remained steadfast. But Valdrlund was not looking at Loki; he was looking at me, still half-hidden behind Loki.

“I shall see you again one day, Stjarnavetr,” he said, his voice low. “This is not over.”

A chill ran through me.

Valdrlund glanced at Loki and the corner of his lips twitched upwards in what looked like disgust. He threw one last look at the king and then turned on his heel and walked away.

Immediately, my body seemed to wilt.

Surely that was not it? He could not simply be gone just like that, but he was, he was… he would not risk personal injury, he would not risk outright war between our two realms simply to have me in his bed again. I knew Valdrlund was selfishly reckless, but he was not so careless that he would endanger the peace of these realms just for me. And what with the way Loki had been, Valdrlund must have realized that he would not be able to have me unless Loki was, as he had said, dead. And that certainly was not going to happen.

So was I finally rid of him?

I stared after Valdrlund’s retreating form and slowly closed my eyes when the doors thudded behind him. I leaned into Loki, I could not help it, and pressed my forehead to his back. He turned around, perhaps to comfort me, but before he could speak, the Allfather’s voice rang out.

“Loki.”

We both looked up towards the throne.

“Leave.”

Loki did not question it; he took my hand and went to pull me after him, but the Allfather said, “No. She stays. Get out, Loki.”

The way he said it caused a chill to run through me. Loki tentatively let go of my hand and said quietly, “I will wait outside.”

But I did not even acknowledge him. I let go of his hand and slowly went back to the base of the steps that led up to the throne. I lowered my head, trying not to breathe too erratically.

As soon as Loki had gone, the Allfather sighed.

“I knew it was a mistake to bring you here,” he said. “Frigga told me what had happened to you in Vanaheim and I thought that your troubles might follow you here, but she would not listen. She felt sorry for you, you see. But I was right.”

I reluctantly looked up at him, almost afraid to meet his gaze. He was staring down at me.

“She employed you to further Loki’s studies in seidr, which I had expressly forbidden. I am sure you knew, though, that what you were doing was against my orders?”

I swallowed hard and lowered my gaze. “I did,” I whispered.

“You have caused so many problems for me, Lady Stjarnavetr, and you are worth none of them. I can no longer overlook it, nor condone it. I willed your return to Vanaheim, for that is where you belong, but Loki in his stupidity sought to endanger the relations between our two realms and now he may have succeeded. Surely you can understand how that is a problem for me, Lady Stjarnavetr? Surely you can understand how your presence here is a problem?”

I felt a dreadful sense of foreboding, but did not know what to say. I had not asked for any of this—I had not asked to become Valdrlund’s mistress over a century ago, I had not asked to be so grievously mistreated by him. I had not asked to come to Asgard, I had not asked for Loki to pursue me as he had, but all of it had happened anyway and now here I was once again—everything my fault.

I opened my mouth to speak, perhaps to apologize for the inconvenience my existence had caused him, but he cut me off.

He spoke plainly, as if his words were of no consequence.

“I exile you to Midgard.”

My head snapped up and I stared at him in horror.

“By the end of the week—”

“Allfather,” I cried, interrupting him. Tears instantly filled my eyes, threatening to spill over, and my voice shook, for already I was on the verge of bursting into sobs. “I… I have been nothing but good and loyal to Queen Frigga and tried my best to be a loyal subject to you. I am sorry if I have offended you in any way, it was never my intention to cause such discord—”

But he shook his head, dismissing my pleas. He either did not believe me or simply did not wish to hear it.

“I am not with Loki,” I said desperately, my voice breaking. I knew the king did not like me; I knew he disliked that Loki had kept me as his mistress for so long because of my station. Was that anything to do with it? Perhaps he did not know, perhaps if he knew for certain that I was not with Loki anymore he would reconsider. “I am not with him anymore, I have not been with him for months—”

“Enough,” he commanded, his voice hard.

But I could not stop. By now I was crying, I could not help it. The mere thought of being banished—again—filled me with a cold terror. It was as if the Allfather was finishing what King Aldregimildr had started over ten years ago.

Still I tried, though he probably could barely understand me for how choked my voice was with tears.

“Allfather, I see not what I have done to warrant exile—”

He raised his hand and I bit back my words, as well as a sob, and stared up at him, tears rolling down my face. He stood up and slowly came down the steps and I dropped to my knees in front of him and bowed my head in supplication. I clasped my hands in front of me so hard that they shook, trying to unsuccessfully to swallow my tears.

“Please,” I whispered, sounding pitiful. “Your Majesty, I beg of you, please…”

But he did not say anything.

He only turned and walked away.


	47. Part I - Chapter 47

Loki

I paced restlessly outside Gladsheim, wondering what Father could possibly be saying to Stjarna. What would he even have to say to her? He had never once spoken a word to her in all the time she had been my mistress, though he had insulted her plenty of times to me.

But none of that truly mattered now, for Valdrlund would soon be gone and all might hopefully return to some sense of normalcy. Stjarna would not stay with me anymore, I knew, but would return to sleeping in her own chambers. However, I wondered about other things as well.

Would it go back to how it had been before Valdrlund had come to Asgard? Would we once again go back to not speaking to one another, reduced to only fleeting glances during the afternoon feasts? I did not think I could bear for things to return to that, but I doubted Stjarna would be too thrilled to know that.

But gods, how I had missed her. In the months following Stjarna leaving me, she was all I could think of. I knew I had hurt her, I knew I had been the cause of her pain, but now I wanted her to give me a chance to try and heal this hurt I had done to her, this hurt that Valdrlund had done to her.

I wanted to tell her that I loved her, but was not sure exactly how to go about it or how she would react. I did not know if it would be too welcome a thing to hear, for even after everything I did not think she would wish to be with me again. It did not matter, though. I needed her to know and was resolved to do it sooner rather than later.

And now I allowed my thoughts to drift to Father. I was anticipating his being angry with me afterwards, for I had interfered with his plans, but I cared not. I had been able to keep Stjarna from returning with Valdrlund and that was all that mattered.

Suddenly, the great double doors opened. I stopped pacing and looked up, expecting to see Stjarna emerge. But it was Father. He paused when he saw me and stared expressionlessly at me for a long moment.

Unease bloomed inside me.

“Father?”

He did not answer me. Instead, he looked away and continued on past me.

I stared after him and then slowly turned my head to look into the hall. I could see the throne at the end and at the base of its steps, Stjarna kneeling and bent over on the stone floor. Even from here, I could hear her sobs.

Immediately I was going towards her, nearly running through the silent hall. I was beside her, then, kneeling down and reaching out to touch her.

“Stjarna?”

I pulled her into an embrace and she came willingly. She slumped into me, still sobbing, and clutched my arms.

“What have I done, Loki?” she cried. “What have I done?”

“Stjarna,” I demanded, trying to get her to look at me. “What are you talking about? What happened?”

But she only shook her head and continued to cry. I wondered what Father could have possibly said to send her into such weeping.

“Stjarna,” I said desperately now. “What happened?”

I could just barely make out her words.

“I am exiled.”

I did not think I had heard her correctly—I must have heard her wrong. I pushed her away and took her chin in my fingers and forced her to look up at me. Her face was wet with tears, her lips trembling. She gazed miserably at me.

“I am exiled,” she whispered hoarsely, her voice quivering. She lowered her eyes. “I am banished to Midgard.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and choked on a sob and leaned forward into me. I wrapped my arms around her again and stared ahead, not knowing what it was that I felt in that moment. I almost could not believe it, I could not understand why…

“Why?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

But she did not reply and I held her for a while longer as she wept. I was frantically turning it over and over in my mind. Why would Father exile Stjarna? She had done nothing to justify exile, it was all me… so then why had he chosen to banish her?

But with Stjarna hanging on me like this, I could not go after him now. I had to get her to my chambers and then I would go to him and demand to know what he was doing.

Before Stjarna’s tears had even begun to slow, I whispered her name and helped her to her feet.

“Come,” I said, wiping her tears away. “I will take you to my chambers.”

She nodded, eyes downcast, and did not even bother to question me.

We began slowly walking.

I tried to explain to her. “I will speak to Father—”

“It will do no good,” she said quietly, cutting me off.

“We will see,” I responded sharply.

I did not mean to be so terse with her, but now it was becoming increasingly more difficult to suppress this anger I could feel rising to the surface. But I would not allow myself to become heated until later, for Stjarna’s sake. She was in no state to deal with anything else, especially my growing angry.

Once we had finally made it to my chambers, I led Stjarna to one of the chairs in front of my fireplace and sat her down.

She stared down at the floor and I saw that her hands were shaking.

“What shall I do?” she whispered before I could speak. Her voice quavered and I could tell she was trying her hardest not to burst into sobs again. “I know nothing of Midgard, not like you…”

“Stjarna, listen to me.”

She slowly looked up as I knelt before her.

She looked so pitiful and I felt awful. Her pale grey eyes were swimming with tears and her chin was trembling.

“You’re not going to be exiled.”

But she knew I could not promise that and she gave a disparaging little shake of her head.

“What about my father?” she cried softly, bending over to bury her face in her hands. “Was it all for nothing?”

I wrapped my arms around her and felt the way her body shook as she began quietly weeping.

“Stjarna,” I said firmly, attempting to calm her. “You are not going to be exiled, do you understand me? I am going to speak with him now. I’ll fix this.”

I kissed the side of her head before I stood up, but she did not look at me and I did not know what else to do or say.

And so I left Stjarna there in my chambers and headed determinedly towards Father’s, for I could think of no other place he might be in that moment. When I came upon his doors and saw them shut and the two Einherjar standing guard outside, I knew he was within.

I demanded admittance and they allowed it, perhaps a little too easily.

I found Father inside. He sat at his table and was going through a stack of papers in front of him.

He looked up when I entered and pressed his lips together in what looked like irritation.

“I would speak with you,” I said, attempting not to shout.

“I knew you would come,” he answered tiredly, “but it will do no good, Loki. I have made up my mind.”

“But you cannot do this!” I cried, unable to keep the resentment out of my voice.

“And why can I not?” he asked, gazing coolly at me. “I am the king. I need not explain myself to you.”

I glared virulently at him. “I want to know,” I demanded, “why you are exiling her when she has done nothing.”

But he only shook his head. “We should never have taken the Vana harlot in. I knew she would cause some sort of trouble, I told your mother—”

“I care not what you told Mother!” I exclaimed angrily. “I want to know why you are doing this!”

Suddenly, he slammed his fist down on the table. I flinched as he rose quickly to his feet and came around the table to stand.

“Because you threatened the king of Vanaheim!” he nearly screamed, growing red in the face. “You threatened to kill him! Think me not a fool, Loki, why else would you do something so incredibly stupid for a woman? If you would hold a knife to the king of Vanaheim’s throat, what else would you do for her?”

I only stared at him, not knowing how to respond.

“It is best she goes,” he said, more softly now. “You cannot see it now, Loki, but it is for your own good.”

I blinked, stunned into silence.

He was not exiling her for anything she had done, but he was banishing her to punish me—to teach me a lesson.

“Relations between Asgard and Vanaheim were fragile as it was,” he explained, becoming heated once again. “Now look what has happened, all over this pathetic jealousy between you and King Valdrlund.”

I ground my teeth together.

“It was not jealousy,” I bit out. “I was protecting her.”

“You nearly ruined the treaty between Asgard and Vanaheim for a woman,” he said derisively, as if Stjarna was not worth protecting, as if she was worth nothing. I knew he did not think anything of her, though; to Father, Stjarna was worthless. But he did not know what Valdrlund had done to her, he did not know what I had done I had done out of necessity.

He sighed. “I have had enough of this, Loki. I’ve overlooked them, your dalliances, for far too long and now it has gone too far. I’ll not have the peace of these realms threatened because another man touched your whore and you lost your temper.”

Touched her?

“Touched her?!” I nearly screamed, taking a step forward and causing Father to stiffen. “He didn’t touch her, he raped her!”

Father stared at me.

My body was shaking and I could feel this anger and this hate burning inside me. How dare he dismiss Stjarna like that? How dare he reduce what had been done to her to nothing?

“Where did this happen?” he asked softly, as if trying to placate me.

“Her chambers,” I replied heatedly. “He went to her after the banquet and he raped her.”

“How do you know this?”

“She told me.”

He shook his head and went to speak, but I cut him off.

“The day before yesterday he beat her and tried to rape her again, but I… I stopped him. That was when I held the knife to his throat.” I had begun by speaking loudly, but my voice gradually quietened. I did not like recounting what I had seen when I had walked into Stjarna’s chambers that morning, but I thought if there was any hope Father might change his mind, I would take it, even though I knew it would hurt Stjarna to know that I had told him this. But it was for her own good.

Father glanced down, looking pensive. Finally, he looked back up at me. “Is there any word other than hers? Or yours?”

“No,” I said reluctantly.

“None were there to witness it the first time?”

Now I realized where he was going with this.

“No,” I answered tightly.

“And you said the day before yesterday, the act was not actually committed?”

Now my voice was dark. “No. He did not get that far. I stopped him before he could… finish.”

“So, essentially, there is only her word?”

He took my indignant silence as a yes.

“It is not as if we could touch him anyway. He is a king and a foreign one at that.”

“So you will do nothing?” I growled, clenching my jaw.

Now his voice was hard. “Whatever he did, it did not warrant your actions, for he is a king—”

“Did not warrant my actions!” I shouted. “I should have slit his throat from ear to fucking ear—!”

“Enough!” he bellowed, pulling himself up.

I glowered at him. I did not think I had ever felt such loathing for Father as I did in that moment. That he could treat this situation with such disregard infuriated me, that he could so easily dismiss these abysmal misdeeds done to Stjarna.

“It is unfortunate that this has happened if her words to you are true, Loki, but there is nothing to be done. He is a king and he will be gone soon.” Now he paused. “But my decision still stands. Lady Stjarnavetr shall be exiled to Midgard.”

I bared my teeth, unable to hold back a sound of frustration, and turned on my heel to storm out of his chambers. But he had not given me permission to leave and he said my name.

I stopped, feeling this rage coursing hotly through my veins.

“Come here.”

I slowly turned around and met his cold gaze. I went forward, hate boiling in my gut.

When I finally stood in front of him, he reached out and grabbed me roughly by the collar of my tunic. He fisted the fabric in his hand and jerked me forward and down. I was taller than him and had to bend for the sudden movement, for he was gripping me so tightly that I could barely move. Our faces were only inches apart and his was twisted in anger.

“This is the second time you have seriously jeopardized relations between Asgard and one of its allies, Loki. If you ever attempt anything so stupid again, if you ever imperil the peace of these realms again, think not that I will hesitate to cut you out of the line of succession completely.”

My blood froze.

I knew he spoke of Utgard.

After our disastrous trip to Utgard centuries ago, relations between Asgard and the rock giants of Jötunheim had drastically deteriorated. There had been threats of war from Utgard, something to be taken very seriously, but the forces of the rock giants had not been plentiful and after a while nothing was heard from them but whispers. Nothing had ever come of it and eventually the threats of war had been forgotten.

But Father had not forgotten, apparently. He had blamed both Thor and I for the problems with the rock giants after that and now he was comparing the situation with Valdrlund to the happenings of Utgard.

As if to reiterate, he growled, “Think not that I will not do that, Loki. I will not have the peace of these realms threatened in any way for the well-being of your whore.”

He glared at me for a long moment before violently releasing me and pushing me backwards. I stumbled back, but then merely stood there, no longer consumed with anger, but this cold dread. He could always do that to me.

“She will be gone by the end of the week,” he said darkly. “That is my judgment. Perhaps now, Loki, you will learn to not interfere in the business of kings.”

We stared at one another for a long moment before he blinked and turned around, suddenly looking weary.

“Get out of my sight,” he whispered, seating himself heavily at his table.

I did not hesitate to do as he said. I left his chambers quickly, heart pounding in my ears and body flushed with discomfiture. He had reprimanded me like a child, but that was what he thought of me, I knew. That was how he had always viewed me, as nothing more than some aggravating and irresponsible boy.

I ground my teeth together and clenched my fists so hard that my nails broke the skin of my palms. I raked my fingers through my hair, attempting to control my erratic breathing.

But I could only think of one more thing to do. I was not sure it would work, what with how resolved Father had seemed in his decision to exile Stjarna, but I had to try.

I began walking again, though no longer as angry. All I could think of as I made my way to Mother’s chambers was Stjarna alone and cut off in Midgard. The very idea made me feel sick. I could not let him do this to her.

Soon enough I was at Mother’s chambers.

She was sitting in her receiving chamber along with all of her other women, reading a book.

When I entered, they all looked at me.

“Leave,” I said, and my voice cracked.

I did not have to say it twice. The women quickly rose to their feet and filed out until only Mother and I remained. She went to rise after the doors had closed, but before she could, I had gone to her and fallen to my knees in front of her. She frowned at my distraught appearance as I took her hands in mine.

“Loki? What is wrong?”

“He has exiled her,” I said despondently.

“What?”

“It is Father, he has exiled Stjarna to Midgard.”

She stared at me in disbelief.

“He has…?”

“It was earlier this morning,” I explained, the words pouring out of me so quickly she probably could barely understand me. “Father tried to give Stjarna to Valdrlund, but I would not let him and Valdrlund grew angry and left and then Father spoke to Stjarna and he banished her to Midgard, he says she will be gone by the week’s end…”

“Why has he done this?” she inquired anxiously.

I could not keep a sliver of anger out of my voice. “He is doing it to punish me.”

“You spoke to him?”

“Yes, but he will not listen to me, he is set on exile.”

Her expression was piteous.

“Mother, you must do something. Do not let him do this to her, please…”

“I will speak to him, Loki, but you know I cannot promise anything.”

“Yes, please just talk to him…”

I closed my eyes and leaned forward and she embraced me. I buried my face in her hair and caught the light scent of roses. Mother had always smelled slightly of roses.

I pulled back and she put her hand on my cheek.

My voice was quiet. “I am in love with her.”

Mother only looked slightly surprised at my admission. She stroked my cheek lightly with her thumb and tilted her head slightly. “I know, Loki.”

I looked down, feeling despair.

Slowly, I rose to my feet.

“I will speak to him tonight, Loki,” she said softly.

I gave a small nod before leaving her chambers, not comforted in the least.

I did not return to my own rooms where Stjarna was surely waiting, but instead wandered aimlessly through the empty corridors. I did not wish to see her now, for I could only think of Father’s decision and I began to grow angry all over again.

Though I knew Mother would try her best to convince Father to not exile Stjarna, I was not sure she would be able to. He had seemed beyond determined to see Stjarna gone and I did not think he would relent, even to Mother. If she was not able to convince him, there would be nothing else that I could do. Stjarna would be gone from Asgard, she would be forcibly taken from me, and the thought of that made my blood boil. That I should never see her again, that I should never hear her voice again, never touch her or kiss her…

Rage welled up inside me and I clenched my fists as I feverishly paced in an empty corridor. I wanted to hit something, I wanted to break something, and I spun around and drove my fist into the nearest column as hard as I could, feeling the seidr coiled hotly in my fist, feeling the bones crack and splinter in my hand. Pain raced up my arm and seemed to radiate throughout my entire body; I gritted my teeth and bit back a groan.

But then all of the fight seemed to drain out of me and I pressed my forehead to the cool stone. I clenched my fist even harder, increasing the pain tenfold, but I was almost grateful for the feeling—it was something to focus on instead of Stjarna, something to feel other than this crushing grief, for her impending exile was almost too horrible to think of. I slumped against the column and squeezed my eyes shut, fighting the tears that had gathered in my eyes when I hit the wall and surely broken my hand. I wanted to scream, but I was not sure if anything would come out, and so I turned and slowly slid down the column, my entire body weighted down with this despair.

I drew my legs up, rested my arms on my knees, and tilted my head back against the column. I felt so helpless, I knew not what else to do. I had tried to keep Stjarna from returning to Vanaheim with Valdrlund and had succeeded, but in the process had earned Father’s wrath.

Now Stjarna was faced with banishment because of me. Father was doing this solely to punish me and what a marvelous job he had done of it. I was consumed with guilt, something I am sure he had anticipated. I knew that if Mother was not able to convince him, Stjarna would be sent to Midgard and it would be entirely my fault. She had done absolutely nothing to deserve exile and all of the blame would rightfully fall to me.

Gods, I had utterly failed Stjarna. She would hate me, she would never forgive me, and I would never be able to forgive myself if it all came to fruition.

If not for the gravity of the situation, it would have almost been funny to think of how determined I had been earlier, but now could barely stand for my hopelessness. I should have gone back to my chambers to reassure Stjarna, to enfold her in my arms and tell her everything would be alright, but I just could not face her like this and I hated myself for it.

I could only pray that Mother found success tonight.

__

Frigga

It was late when I went to his chambers.

The guards, as always, unquestioningly admitted me when I walked up to them and smiled.

He was standing by his table, which was piled high with papers and other effects. He was shuffling through one particularly large stack, his weary expression betraying his exhaustion. I had noticed that he had looked rather worn as of late.

When he heard the doors open, he glanced up at me.

“Frigga.”

I smiled. “Husband.”

He glanced down and began rifling through the papers again. He did not look at me as he spoke. “If this is about Loki and that Vana of his, I do not want to hear it. My word is final.”

“Of course,” I said, walking up to him. He probably suspected that Loki had come to me. Loki had done that often in the past when he wanted something from his father. He had always hoped I would be able to soften Odin’s resolve.

But now I studied some of the papers and saw that they pertained to the Aesir-Vanir treaty.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

He sighed heavily. “Valdrlund threatened to revise the treaty. I am… preparing.”

“For what?”

He did not answer my question, but only said tiredly, “This is a mess, Frigga.”

I remained silent.

“Loki came to me today. He was angry.”

“Leave this,” I said suddenly, touching his hand. “Let us sit.”

He paused for only a moment before allowing me to lead him to his couch, which sat in front of his fireplace. A small table nearby held a tray with a flagon of wine and some cups. I poured him a cup from the unopened jug and brought it to him as he sat down. He took it from my hand and looked up at me with a small, shrewd smile.

“Think not that I do not realize what you are doing.”

I laughed as I sat down next to him. “Can I not come to visit my husband without my motives being questioned?”

“No,” he answered, taking a draught.

I raised my eyebrows and smiled at him.

And then, more seriously, “So, what of Valdrlund?”

“He will be gone within the next couple of days, most likely,” he said flatly, “and Draupnir shall remain in Vanaheim.”

“I am sorry, my love,” I whispered. I did not lie; I was sorry. Odin had treasured Draupnir for so long and it was doubtful now that it would ever be returned to him.

He shook his head.

“Draupnir is lost to me, relations further soured… all for that damned woman.”

I did not say anything, but instead stared into the fire. It was best, I knew, to let him come to me. I knew he would eventually bring it up on his own, despite his telling me not to speak of it earlier, and that I would not have to wait long. And I did not.

“Why did you do it, Frigga?”

“Why did I do what?”

“Why did you bring her here?”

By his tone, I could tell he was not actually asking me. He was talking more to himself than to me, but I answered him anyway.

“I have told you before why I brought Lady Stjarnavetr to Asgard.”

“Yes, but you lied to me the first time.”

“Did I?”

“Frigga.”

“I wanted a seidr tutor for Loki.”

When he did not respond immediately, I thought back to how angry he had been with me after the tournament when Loki had used his seidr against Frey. That night after the feast, Odin had demanded to know how Loki was so advanced in the magic of the Vanir, why his lessons had continued even though he had long ago forbidden it. There had been no use in keeping it from him and so I had told him about Lady Stjarnavetr teaching Loki seidr, but said I would cease their lessons immediately if he would not punish her, for it was not her fault I had coerced her into furthering Loki’s studies in magic. Odin had grudgingly complied, but still had been displeased with both Loki and I.

He shook his head and took another draught of wine. “You are just as bad as Loki.”

I grinned. “Who do you think he learns it from?”

I saw the corner of his lips twitch upwards in a smile.

“And…” I paused now, trying to find the right words to say. “It is something for Loki to excel at. He is so very good at it, husband. You should see him. He has come far under Lady Stjarnavetr’s guidance. You saw in the tournament, he was able to defeat Frey.”

Odin did not address my exaltation of Loki’s magical abilities, though.

“He barely scraped by in that fight. He might have done better if he were more skilled with the sword.”

“He is not Thor,” I replied, unable to keep the sharpness out of my voice.

He glanced at me. “Yes, I suppose so. What of his other studies, then? Are the reports from his tutors good?”

“Excellent, as always. He is incredibly smart, but you are only concerned if he can wield a sword.”

“That is not true,” Odin said petulantly. “I know he is smart.”

“But he is not like Thor. You know that.”

“Yes,” he acquiesced, still sounding reluctant.

“He does not think you are proud of him.”

He shook his head, but he knew I spoke the truth.

“I am proud of him.”

“Then why do you never tell him? Why do you never show him?”

But Odin did not say anything. He only stared ahead into the fire.

Finally, I said, “Let him have his magic.”

“No,” he answered immediately. “It is unseemly.”

Now I laughed. “Oh, husband.”

I lifted my legs, tucked them beneath me on the couch, and leaned against him and laid my head on his shoulder. He tilted his head to the side to rest against mine as I took his hand and lightly traced the many lines decorating his palm. I drew little patterns on his open hand, leaving behind small green lines that shimmered and quickly faded; it was my seidr reacting with his.

Odin had taught me seidr long ago and I had in turn sought to teach Loki when I realized he would not be as physically gifted as Thor. Odin eventually had deemed seidr an unworthy pastime, though, despite his own initial pursuit of it. He had forbidden me from teaching Loki, but I had not listened; I had taught Loki the magic of the Vanir in secret until Stjarnavetr had come to Asgard.

I lifted my husband’s hand and kissed the back of it.

“Let Loki have his magic,” I whispered, stroking his arm. “Let him have her.”

But just as I knew he would, Odin sighed, sounding exasperated. “Frigga, please.”

“Do not take her away from him. He will hate you, husband. He will hate me for letting this happen. He will resent us.”

“He is going to resent us anyway,” Odin said unperturbably, taking my hand in his and running his fingertip along my skin as I had done to him. I could feel the warmth of his seidr in my palm. “He will hate us no matter what.”

“Do not say that,” I said suddenly, pulling my hand away. I stared at him, my expression staid. I did not like it when he spoke of that, of Loki’s inevitable anger when everything would eventually come to light. “Do not say that.”

Odin only looked at me, pity in his expression. “Frigga…”

I shook my head, not wanting to believe it would actually come to that.

It hurt me to even think of it. I tried to deny it, I tried to pretend, but I knew when the time came for Loki to know, it would kill him. It would kill me. But deep down, I knew he would be justified in hating us. I knew we would deserve it. I dreaded the day when all would be revealed, for I loved Loki with everything I had.

I looked down at my hands and Odin draped an arm over my shoulders and pulled me back to him. He turned his head to place a reassuring kiss on my temple.

“It is still a long way away,” I murmured, more to myself than to him.

“It is not as long as you’d think,” he said quietly.

I hesitated. “Did Mímir tell you that? Did he speak… of it?”

“Yes.”

But now I shook my head. I did not wish to hear of it. I almost did not want to know.

“Has he spoken of Stjarnavetr?” I asked curiously.

“No, he does not speak of such trivial things. But he also speaks in riddles, so in truth I cannot be completely sure. I wish he would speak plainly, but he refuses. I would behead him again if I could.”

I smiled. “But that is his way. Was it not always?”

“Yes. It always irritated me and he knew it. I think he does it out of spite now.”

“Even in death he takes joy in tormenting you, my love.”

Odin chuckled and I relaxed against him.

We sat in silence for a long while before finally I chanced to bring it up again.

“Odin?”

He tilted his head to look at me.

“I ask you not to do this to our son. Please.”

He looked away and expulsed a heavy breath. “You are too good to him, Frigga.”

“Because nobody else is.”

He glanced back at me and I stared at him, eyebrows raised as if inviting him to challenge me on that point.

“Husband, this is not Stjarnavetr’s fault.”

“I know.”

“She is infertile.”

He took a sip of wine. “Yes, Loki told me.”

“If she were to leave, he might go back to sullying half of my staff. You know that.”

“Yes.”

I lowered my voice and said seriously, “I would not have a repeat of Sigyn, husband.”

He only stared into the fire. “That was the chambermaid?”

I nodded.

“But he knows magic. You told me Eir taught him a spell for it.”

“Still, I would not risk such a thing again and I would not think you would wish to, either.”

“No,” he admitted.

We fell once again into silence and it was a while before either of us said anything else.

“He loves that girl,” he murmured, rolling the wine around in his cup.

“Yes,” I concurred, my voice soft.

In the following silence, I thought back to the night I had released Stjarnavetr from my service. I had been terribly upset that she was returning to Vanaheim, but could do nothing but grant her permission since she willed it. I remembered how candidly she had spoken to me; I had been surprised when she said she had suspected for a long time my motive for bringing her to Asgard and I had not denied it, for it was mostly the truth.

A little over a decade ago, King Valdrlund, only the crown prince of Vanaheim then, had sent a messenger to me. In his letter, he had spoken bluntly about the woman he kept as his mistress, whose name was Stjarnavetr. He had related to me how he had gotten her with child and his father had been rid of it and she was in danger of being exiled to Midgard. He begged me to take her out of Vanaheim, to heal her and keep her safe as one of my women in Asgard.

I had been willing enough to take her in, for I would not wish exile to Midgard upon a woman for simply becoming with child. Besides, just from what Valdrlund had said, it sounded as if she had been through enough. I had promptly responded to him and said yes, I would take her. I spoke to Odin of it and though he was reluctant to allow her refuge here, he had allowed me this. Shortly after, I had sent some Einherjar to Vanaheim to bring her to Asgard.

I had been informed immediately upon her arrival and had gone to the healing ward where she had been taken. I had spoken to Eir beforehand about the Vana coming here and had told her she would be injured, but neither of us had anticipated the extent of damage that had been done to the girl’s body. Essentially, Stjarnavetr had been poisoned and the child within forcefully expelled from her womb; she had lost much blood and was slipping in and out of consciousness and nearly completely unaware of what was going on around her. After Eir had cleaned her up and fully assessed her condition, she told me that Stjarnavetr would never again be capable of carrying a child.

It was only then when I had begun thinking of Loki.

At the time, I had been conducting his seidr lessons in secret, but knew I could not go on like that forever. I reasoned that Stjarnavetr was a Vana and she knew even more seidr than I. An idea began to form in my mind, then. What if Stjarnavetr became Loki’s seidr tutor? It also helped that she was a very pretty girl; I thought that Loki might like her and she might be able to keep him off of my women and palace staff and it had eventually worked—for a time.

But I had never anticipated her falling in love with him. I knew how Loki was. I knew he could be difficult and rude and obnoxious and so never would have thought that she would be able to see past all of that. It seemed that hardly anybody else could.

The night I had let Stjarnavetr go, I had asked her if she loved him. Though I already suspected, I wanted to hear her say it. Stjarnavetr had admitted to me that she had loved him before, but no longer after what he had done to her. But I had seen it in her eyes, heard it in the way she hesitated; she was still in love with him and I knew that he was likewise in love with her. It was not difficult to see it if you looked for it. I, too, had once thought Loki above such sentimentality, for he had always attempted to keep a distance between himself and others, but no longer.

I had noticed a gradual change in the both of them as the years had passed. Stjarnavetr, who had been withdrawn and diffident upon her arrival in Asgard, began to open up more, and Loki, who had always possessed a rather callous demeanor, did not act so frigidly all the time. I noticed this especially when they were in the company of one another; I had never seen a woman able to hold Loki so completely as did Stjarnavetr.

I had thought them wonderful for one another and had been both saddened and displeased when I realized Loki had begun once again taking other women to his bed. It soon became evident that Stjarnavetr was ignorant of this fact. I could not remember the last time I had been so disappointed in Loki and dreaded the day when Stjarnavetr would eventually find out, but I had not said anything, for I could not physically keep him from sleeping with whoever he wished. Besides, I knew it would break Stjarnavetr’s heart. I had seen the way she looked at him and had suspected for some time that she may have felt something more for Loki than simply desire.

I had also suspected as to Loki’s deeper feelings for Stjarnavetr, but no longer had to wonder, what with his rather unexpected confession to me earlier today. I felt sorrow when I thought of how plaintive he had looked today. I knew Loki prided himself on being perpetually composed, but today it had looked as if he was about to fall apart.

“Did you plan for that?” Odin inquired, pulling me out of my inner musings.

“No,” I said quietly, addressing his asking if I had planned for them to fall in love. “It simply happened.”

He scoffed.

“Oh, husband,” I laughed, turning my head to kiss his shoulder. “Did we not once love like that?”

“Like what?” he asked disinterestedly.

“Were we not just like them?”

“That was a long time ago, Frigga.”

I smiled, nonetheless. “If I remember correctly, there was quite a bit of sneaking around, as well.”

Now he laughed out loud.

“There was that time when you nearly broke your leg attempting to spy on Fulla and I in the baths.”

He chuckled and closed his eye and tilted his head back against the couch. “That was millennia ago. Will you never let me forget?”

I laughed quietly. “No.”

Odin turned his head to once again kiss my temple.

“Were we not young once?” I asked softly, taking his hand in mine. “Did we not love as they do?”

But then came the resilience I knew so well.

“But that girl is not worth his time, Frigga. The boy is a fool.”

“But of course Loki is foolish. He is young. Would you not have done the same, husband, if Bör had exiled me?”

He did not immediately reply.

“It is different,” he finally said.

“How is it different?”

“He does not look to the future. He is only concerned with the now.”

“The future,” I murmured absently. “It is a heavy burden to bear, surely.”

I was thinking of how different Odin had been when he was young. He had not been so unforgiving, nor had he been so obdurate. Though he had always taken his roles seriously, he had not always borne them with such solemnity. When he had become king, however, when the weight of the realm and all of its tribulations had been laid so heavily on his shoulders, it had changed him. It and the wars of the past had shaped and hardened him into a stubborn and severe old man.

But I knew there was always a reasoning behind his pronouncements, for I understood the tremendous burden he bore. Sometimes he would emerge from his chambers, ashen-faced, and would not speak for days and always appear to be deep in some troubled thought. Soon enough his grimness would fade, though he never spoke to any of the cause for it, not even to me. He had always told me it was a load he alone would carry, this great weight of knowing.

But still, I would not let him so easily do this to our son and Stjarnavetr.

“She makes him so happy,” I said softly. “This will hurt him.”

“Then what will you have me do, Frigga? What he did is not to be taken lightly. What do you propose? Let him go without punishment?”

“No,” I answered. “Punish him, but do not send her to Midgard. She does not deserve that for my and Loki’s mistakes. Has not the very threat of being banished been punishment enough for the both of them?”

He sighed heavily.

“You are just, husband,” I whispered, kissing his cheek and going to stand up. “I know you will do the right thing.”

As I went to move away, he reached out and caught my wrist. He put the cup of wine on the little table next to the couch and rose to his feet and I looked up at him as he took my face in his hands. He lightly kissed me on the lips and murmured, “You are too good, Frigga. I do not deserve you.”

I smiled knowingly at him. “No, you do not.”

He slowly closed his eye and pressed his forehead to mine.

“Stay with me tonight,” he breathed.

I put my hand on his arm and lightly kissed him. “Yes.”


	48. Part I - Chapter 48

Loki

I did not return to my chambers until the late afternoon. I sat in that corridor for hours upon the floor, lamenting Stjarna’s fate, ignoring the curious and worried glances of passing servants and courtiers, trying to think of something else I might be able to do to keep her here. But when still I could not come up with anything, I at long last pulled myself up, feeling drained and weary, and made my way back to my rooms.

I nearly stumbled through my door and went into my bedchamber, unable to even think straight for my despair. I had a pounding headache and barely noticed Stjarna lying asleep in my bed. I collapsed onto my couch, not even bothering to undress or take my boots off. I was too exhausted and only wished to sleep so I could momentarily forget everything.

I awoke in the early morning hours when my chambers were dark and the only light came from the fireplace and the moonlight pouring in from my balcony. I cracked my eyes open and saw Stjarna sitting in front of my fireplace. She was gazing listlessly into the fire, her face lit up orange by the dancing flames.

I let out a small groan and sat up. I braced my hands on the couch to stand up, but when I put pressure on my hand, a rivulet of stabbing pain shot up my arm. I cursed and gritted my teeth as my hand began to throb painfully. I had not even bothered to heal myself the day before after punching the column, for the sharp pain in my hand had been able to somewhat distract me from Stjarna’s impending exile.

Stjarna heard me and glanced over. I cradled my hand and went to heal it with my seidr, but stopped when she stood up, came over, and sat down next to me. She leaned over slightly and studied my hand; I am sure even in the dimness of the room, she could discern the black bruising on my swollen knuckles.

“You did not hit the Allfather, did you?” she asked worriedly.

I could not help a soft, half-hearted chuckle. “No, Stjarna. I don’t think I would be here now if I had.”

Stjarna gently took my hand into hers and I winced. She tilted her head and tenderly traced her fingers over my damaged skin. It did not hurt too badly, for her touch was feather-light, and then I could feel the delicious warmth of her seidr spreading through my hand and painlessly healing me. The bruising on my knuckles faded to nothing until my skin was once again pale and smooth and the swelling went down and my hand stopped aching. Stjarna surveyed the newly healed skin and ran her fingertip along the ridge of my knuckles.

“There,” she murmured.

I gazed down at our hands and then slowly turned mine over and twined my fingers with hers.

Her pale grey eyes flickered up to meet mine and I wondered if she had cried after I had gone yesterday. I hated how I had been too timorous to return and console her as I should have done, but the thought of losing Stjarna had terrified me beyond anything and I simply had not been able to bring myself to see her, especially in my state.

“I went to Mother,” I said softly.

She lowered her eyes.

“What did she say?”

“She said she would speak to him.”

Stjarna pulled her hand from mine and picked absently at her fingers before giving a small nod. It was obvious she did not think it would do any good, either. She stood up and went to go sit back down in front of the fire, but something took a hold of me and I reached out and wrapped my fingers around her wrist.

“Stjarna.”

She turned to look at me and then slowly sat back down.

I stared at her, not knowing exactly what it was that I wished to say.

That I loved her and that I was sorry it had come to this?

And gods, sitting here looking at her, I wanted to tell her, but my throat closed up and I felt I could not speak.

I wondered if she still loved me.

I still often thought of the night of the banquet when I had followed Valdrlund. I had been standing in the shadows when he confronted Stjarna in the corridor, waiting to see if he attempted anything unsavory. I remembered how he had admitted his love for her, which had caused me to clench my fists, and how she had promptly refuted him. It was then when he had asked if she loved me. I had expected her to deny it, to possibly even decry me, but she had not. She had almost challenged him and teased him with it, asking what he would do if she did love me.

I was not sure what she had meant, for only a month earlier she had told me she hated me. It pained me to remember it, for I never would have thought that those words would have such an effect on me. I had been told many times before that I was disliked or even hated, but I had never paid much attention to it because I did not care what anybody thought of me. But when Stjarna had uttered those words to me, it felt as if everything had been stripped away and laid bare. I knew now, though, why it had hurt so much.

I had not wanted to believe her. I had not wanted to believe that once where there was such warmth and laughter, now there was nothing left but this callous animosity, even though I knew it was entirely my fault.

But whether or not she still loved me, I still wanted her to know that I loved her.

“Stjarna, I…”

She was gazing expectantly at me, waiting, but for some vexatious reason I could not bring myself to say it.

And so instead I closed my eyes and leaned forward and captured her lips in a kiss.

Stjarna immediately stiffened against me and turned her head to break the kiss. She put her hand on my chest, but I did not lean away. I moved my head and pressed my face into the top of her shoulder, my breaths coming more heavily.

She was frozen at first and I could almost feel the aversion rolling off of her, but then, somewhat to my surprise, she relaxed against me. She turned her head and whispered my name. I lifted up and lightly kissed her jaw and her chin and then her lips, not entirely sure if she had been encouraging me or warning me off of her, but when she did not pull back, when her lips parted against mine and she gripped the fabric of my tunic even more tightly, I knew she would not push me away.

When I wrapped one arm around her and brought my other hand up to the side of her neck, she melted into my arms. She opened her mouth for me and I kissed her deeply, feeling this nearly forgotten warmth spreading through my body at the feel of her pressed against me like this, the way her soft lips felt moving against mine.

The kiss grew more intense, for I had not kissed her like this in so long, and there was this desperation rising from deep within me, this frantic urge.

But finally I pulled away and leaned back, lips tingling.

Stjarna’s eyelids slowly fluttered open and she looked at me, eyes cloudy with what I perceived as desire. She tightened her hold on my shirt and I saw how she subtly leaned forward, as if silently imploring me to continue kissing her.

I quickly obliged her and it seemed all inhibition was lost, then; I kissed her hard and pushed her head back, reaching up to tangle my fingers in her thick hair, to clutch her even more tightly to me.

I turned my head and ran my lips up under her jaw and she lifted her face, opening herself up for me, and I quickly moved her hair out of the way so I could kiss her neck and the tender spot beneath her ear. She stilled and let me kiss her; she had always loved it when I kissed her neck, she could never get enough of it. I opened my mouth and bared my teeth, nipped at the spot between her neck and shoulder, and left wet kisses all along the top of her bare shoulder, for her nightgown had begun to slip.

I murmured her name desirously into her heated skin as I lowered my head to kiss her collarbones. She put one hand on the side of my head and curled her fingers in my hair and I felt her grip the collar of my tunic with her other hand. And then she was pulling at me, falling backwards onto the couch, and I followed her without hesitation.

The couch was just slightly too narrow for me to kneel between her legs, so I had to put one foot on the floor and bend my other leg beneath me for support. I held myself above her and gazed down at her face, which was only partially illuminated by the pale moonlight streaming in from my balcony. Her eyes were shiny and there were tears caught in her lashes, but in that moment I did not even think on it. It felt as if I was in a dream, but I did not question it—did not want to question it—and did not stop to wonder why Stjarna was opening herself up like this to me after everything she had done to keep me out.

Stjarna put her hands on either side of my neck and drew me down to kiss her. Our tongues moved against each other and I ran my own along her teeth, the roof of her mouth, everywhere, I only wanted to kiss her as deeply as I possibly could, for it had been so long. I let out a breath into her mouth when she lifted up to press against me. She was only wearing her nightgown and I could feel every wonderful contour of her through it, her breasts soft against my chest, her belly against mine, her body so welcoming, so pliant, molding to mine as I pushed even harder against her, craving more, wanting to feel her in the way I had not felt her in so long.

I finally broke the kiss, breathless, and she breathed my name.

I reached back and placed my hand on her hip and languidly ran it down her leg, watching her face as I did so. She was staring up at me, lips parted and breaths coming shallowly. I curled my fingers and caught a handful of the delicate fabric of her nightgown in my hand and pulled it up, simultaneously letting my fingertips graze her soft, heated skin.

But suddenly, Stjarna’s body went rigid beneath me and she caught my hand and I saw what almost looked like fear flicker across her face. She held my hand tightly on her leg, keeping me from lifting her nightgown any further.

“Loki,” she nearly whimpered. “Wait.”

At first I did not understand and wondered what I was doing wrong, but then realized with a pang that it was not me—it was him. She did not want me touching her like this because of what he had done. I felt anger stir within me, but not at Stjarna. I hated that I reminded her of him, for I did not want her to be afraid of me or to not be able to have me touch her without her growing anxious.

I took my hand off of her leg, cupped her face, and lowered my head to place a tender kiss on her parted lips. I felt her body gradually relax as I continued to kiss her, attempting to mollify her. When I lifted back up to look down at her, she placed her hand over mine on her cheek and stroked my skin with her thumb. After a long moment, she guided it back down to her half-exposed leg and directed me, helping me to pull her nightgown up until my hand rested on her bare hip.

Her skin was so warm, her body so warm, and I was already hard against her; I let more of my weight rest on her and even through my pants, even through the sheer fabric gathered between her legs, I could feel that enticing heat between her thighs.

I kissed her again, more fervidly, and felt this fire beginning in me. My entire body was thrumming, it was burning, and every time Stjarna shifted beneath me, it stoked the fire higher and higher. When she lifted her hips, either purposely or involuntarily, and pressed against me, I groaned into her mouth.

I had not lain with a woman since that servant the second night of the tournament and she had not been satisfactory at all. I knew now that it was only Stjarna who could do this to me, only Stjarna who I wanted doing this to me, and it had been so long since we had been together.

I was kissing Stjarna frantically now, so lustily, kissing her anywhere my lips could reach—her lips, her neck, her chest. All the while that I had been kissing her, she had been holding onto my arms, but now she slipped her hands beneath my tunic and they were roaming over my back, her nails scraping my skin, sending these delicious shivers through me.

I could smell her arousal in the air already and I was panting into her skin, caressing the soft flesh of her thigh with my fingers, wanting nothing more than to drown in her body, to lose myself in her heat. I managed to roll my hips against her, seeking any friction at all, and when she whimpered my name and arched her back, the fire in the pit of my stomach flared and I felt I could not wait any longer.

I pulled the other side of her thin gown up until it was bunched around her waist. I almost would have held off so I could drag myself down her body and taste her, but I was on the verge already. Before I could decide, though, Stjarna’s hands were moving down my back, around my sides, leaving trails of fire over my bare skin, and my breath caught in my throat when her fingers grazed the skin below my navel.

And just as she grasped the laces of my pants and tugged, there was a knock on my door in the other room.

Both Stjarna and I froze, our heavy and sporadic breaths punctuating the silent air.

Stjarna nearly gasped, “No, leave it…”

She did not have to say it twice; I kissed her openmouthed as she finally succeeded in getting my pants open. I broke the kiss, buried my face in her neck, and reached to help her push them down over my hips when a voice called through the door.

“Your Highness?”

Though from here it was faint, I could discern the voice. Fulla.

I made a sound of frustration into Stjarna’s neck and attempted to quiet my loud panting. I lifted my head up and looked at her; her cheeks were flushed and I was surprised to still see tears in her eyes.

“Loki, ignore it, please,” she whispered anxiously.

“But it is Fulla,” I said, feeling reluctance.

Stjarna shook her head and tightened her legs on me.

“Your Highness!” Fulla called, knocking again.

I was torn on what to do. Obviously, Fulla had come for Mother, which meant news, but Stjarna lay so willing beneath me and we were so close to it. I had no doubt that I could take her right now and Mother would not suspect, for it would not take me long, considering the state of me, but I knew I would not be able to tear myself away from Stjarna afterwards.

Stjarna brought her hands out from between us and tangled her fingers in my hair and pulled me down to her. She kissed me deeply, opening my mouth with her warm tongue, and I could not help but to let out a groan and eagerly return the kiss.

But Mother’s news ultimately could not wait.

I tentatively pulled away from Stjarna, but kissed her once more on the forehead before lifting up and off of her. I stood up and quickly adjusted my pants, which were somewhat twisted on my hips and about to fall open. I was, in part, almost grateful Fulla had come when she had, though, for I knew if she had come just a minute or two later, I would not have been able to stop and Mother probably would have been waiting for at least a few more hours.

Stjarna quickly pushed her nightgown down and sat up. After I had righted my pants, I went into the other room to open my door. Before I grabbed the handle, I glanced behind me and was surprised to see Stjarna now standing in the doorway to my bedchamber, hands clasped in front of her. She was only staring at me and I could not read her expression.

I turned back around and opened the door, but stood halfway behind it so Fulla might not notice my state. It probably did no good, though; my skin was surely flushed and my hair mussed.

Fulla looked relieved to see me. “The queen would see you immediately.”

I nodded. “I will be there shortly, Fulla, thank you. You may go.”

She inclined her head to me and promptly left.

I slowly shut the door and looked down at the floor, trying to focus on quelling this incessant throbbing between my legs. I pressed my hips against the door, attempting to simply will it away, and then turned my head to look at Stjarna.

“What does the queen want?” she asked softly.

“She has news,” I responded quietly. And then hesitatingly, “Would you like to come with me?”

But Stjarna only gave a little shake of her head before letting her eyes drift off to the side.

“I won’t be long,” I said, feeling as if something significant had just happened and I did not yet realize, but I could sense the change; where before all had been heated, almost feverish, now it had cooled and was nearly uncomfortable.

I stared at Stjarna for a long moment, not knowing what else to say, before opening the door to leave.

As I walked through the darkened corridors, the fire that had been burning in me just moments earlier quickly died as I contemplated the nature of Mother’s news. Had she spoken to Father, then? Had she been able to convince him to keep Stjarna here? But it very well could have been the opposite: she had failed and Stjarna was exiled and would be gone from Asgard within the week.

The thought of that quickly tamped out any lingering feelings of desire and I grew more and more solemn as I neared Mother’s rooms, fearing the worst.

She was sitting in front of her fireplace when I entered her chambers, but stood up when she saw me.

Dread twisted my insides as I came to stand before her.

“Mother,” I said quietly.

And then she smiled.

“Loki.”

Hope immediately leaped inside me and I could not help the grin that broke out over my face.

“I have just come from your father’s chambers,” she explained. “I spoke to him when he was not so heated and he has come to a new decision about Lady Stjarnavetr.”

I paused, breath caught in my throat, and my smile fell. Father having come to a new decision about Stjarna did not necessarily mean all was well.

“Lady Stjarnavetr will remain here in Asgard and will once again become one of my handmaidens—”

But before she could even finish, I had taken a step forward and put my hands on either side of her head and leaned down to kiss her on both her cheeks and her lips. I pulled back, smiling widely, feeling as if I was about to burst from happiness.

“Oh, Mother! You are perfect, you are wonderful! You were able to convince him?”

“Yes, but—”

I kissed her again, on the forehead this time, and she smiled and laughed, but lowered my hands and took them in hers. She tried to look serious.

“Loki, listen to me. You still must be punished.”

I managed to rein in my excitement and look at her.

“What is it, then?” I inquired, but truly I was not so worried, for nothing could be worse than Stjarna being exiled.

“Your father has decided that you must drain your personal treasury and send it all to Vanaheim as recompense for your actions.”

I stared at her in disbelief. “I must drain my treasury?”

Mother sighed at my incredulity. “Loki, you cannot expect nothing to happen. Your father believes this will help to alleviate the tensions caused by you to current Aesir-Vanir relations. And it is the only way he will allow Stjarnavetr to stay here.”

“There is nothing else to be done?” I demanded.

“I would be grateful if I were you,” she warned. “I almost was not able to convince him. He was set on exile.”

I pressed my lips together and looked down. I wanted to protest again, but I knew that she was right.

My treasury held a substantial amount, for I did not so carelessly spend my money as did Thor. It infuriated me that I should empty it for that damnable Van, but then I thought of Stjarna and did not question it further. I would do whatever it took to keep her here and if that necessitated essentially paying Valdrlund off, then I would do it.

Mother smiled at me, put her fingers under my chin, and lifted my head. “Do not look so upset, Loki. Stjarnavetr is staying here.”

Now I slowly smiled.

“Thank you, Mother.” I kissed her forehead again. “Thank you.”

“Go,” she said, indicating the door. “I am sure Stjarnavetr would love to hear of this.”

“Yes,” I agreed, feeling my excitement quickly returning.

I left Mother’s chambers and headed back to my own.

I was practically bursting with anticipation. I kept imagining how happy she would be when I told her she was not exiled and though it may have been premature, I wondered if this meant we could begin anew. There was no doubt in my mind now that she still wanted me, what with how she had been kissing me earlier, how desperately she had been clutching me to her. Surely we could find a way to return to how we had been before now that all of this was past.

Once I began thinking of it, I could not stop. The thought of being with Stjarna again exhilarated me. She would sleep with me in my chambers again and I would be able to hold her at night. I would take her out whenever she wished, I would gift her the most magnificent things when I began to build up my treasury again. I would not take her for granted as I had before and would not make the same mistakes again.

I was so jubilant that when I made it to my chambers, I nearly burst through the door.

“Stjarna!” I said happily, but I did not immediately see her. “Stjarna?”

I checked my bath chamber and the balcony, but found them empty.

She was gone.

__

Stjarnavetr

I stood there for a long time after he had gone to see the queen, twisting the fabric of my nightgown nervously between my fingers. I did not know what it was that I felt. I only knew that I felt sick and finally I sat down on the couch, for my legs were weak.

I bent over and put my face in my hands.

I kept imagining it, wondering what could have possibly possessed me to kiss him back as I had, to have pulled him on top of me and encouraged him like that. I had been startled at first, I remembered, when he had kissed me after I had healed his hand. I had pulled away from him, wanting him to stop, but when he had pressed his face into my shoulder, something in me—I knew not what—had suddenly taken a hold of me and I had allowed him to kiss me again.

After that, it seemed all my reservations had been lost. All I had been able to feel were his lips on mine, his body so hard against mine, his weight and his heat. With him kissing me like that, so deeply and so passionately, I had not been able to think of all the wrong he had done me, nor of everything he had done for me—I had only been consumed with this burning fervency.

There had only been one moment of hesitation after that, only one more moment of fleeting worry. When Loki had gone to pull my nightgown up, these ephemeral images of Valdrlund and the night of the banquet had flashed horribly through my mind. I had quickly stopped him and been about to tell him to get off of me, but he had leaned down and kissed me. The kiss had not been blistering or impassioned, but soft and reassuring. I had melted under his kiss, had felt my averseness and my nervousness fade into the recesses of my mind. Loki had always been able to do that to me, always been able to assuage me of my fears or my uncertainties. And so I had let him go on, no longer wishing to deny myself this unexpected and demanding ache between my legs, not wanting Valdrlund to keep me from this.

And I knew if Fulla had not interrupted us, I would have let him have me.

When she had knocked on the door, I had not wanted Loki to answer it. In that moment, I could only think of him inside me, satisfying this treacherous desire in me. I had wanted him so badly that I had not been above begging him to stay with me and I had seen it in his eyes that he wanted to, but he had gone anyway.

But now sitting here, feeling ill, I was glad he had done so. I was glad Fulla had interrupted us and almost wished she had come sooner. I could not imagine how I would have felt afterwards when we were both spent and he lying on top of me, panting hotly into my skin and I into his… I had pushed him away for so long, and for good reason, only to have just come so close to the edge.

Why had I let him do that to me? Surely it was not because of everything he had done for me? Allowing me to stay in his rooms, to sleep in his bed, his protecting me from Valdrlund…

But I knew a small part of it was that I still desired him. I could not deny that I had imagined us together even after everything had fallen apart. Though I had been determined to hate him, he had made it so difficult. Just the day before yesterday when I had kissed him and gone back to his bed, stunned by my own carelessness, I had buried my face into his pillow and wished he was lying there beside me.

I knew we could not be together again, though. I was grateful for all he had done for me while Valdrlund had been here, but that did not excuse the past.

But then I shook my head and squeezed my eyes shut, trying to fight back the tears.

Why did I even bother thinking of this? None of it mattered, anyway.

I was exiled.

It mattered not if there were still feelings there. Soon enough, they would be useless, for I would never again see Loki. He told me he had spoken to the queen about my exile, but I did not think she could change the Allfather’s mind. The king had seemed determined to be rid of me and I knew Loki could not stand up to him as he had threatened to do with Valdrlund.

All was lost for me.

It was then when I decided that I could not stay here with him anymore… not after this. It was best I go, for anything else said or done between us would only make my banishment that much harder for the both of us.

I changed into one of my dresses, collected my other things, and left his chambers, trying not to think of him or my exile. It had been hard enough earlier. After my meeting with the Allfather, after Loki had brought me here and then left to confront his father, I had cried. I had vomited more than once, for the thought of being exiled terrified me to the point of sickness. To be so suddenly cut off from everything I knew, to never again see a familiar face…

But now I tried to drive all thoughts of my exile from my mind as I walked. I could not bear to think of it.

I had nearly made it to my chambers when he came after me.

“Stjarna!”

I turned around and my heart fell.

Loki was coming towards me and I thought he might be upset, especially when I stood here with my arms full of my things, but he was grinning and did not even seem to notice. He bounded up to me and before I could open my mouth to speak, took my face in his hands and kissed me hard.

“Loki!” I gasped against him.

He only laughed at me as he let me go. “Stjarna, you are not exiled!”

And then he kissed me again, first on my forehead and then briefly again on my lips.

“Mother spoke to Father,” he explained breathlessly after he pulled back. “She was able to convince him, you will remain in Asgard and become a handmaiden again.”

I stared at him, hardly daring to believe it. “I am not exiled?”

“No!” he said elatedly. He looked so happy, even happier than me.

“But how?” I asked, giving a little shake of my head. “She has spoken to the king before, she could not change his mind. What is different now?”

He hesitated.

“Loki?”

“I am to pay recompense,” he said reluctantly.

“What do you mean?”

“I must… apologize… to Valdrlund.”

I looked at him in confusion.

“How?”

“Mother said Father must still punish me somehow if you are not to be sent away and so I am to drain my personal treasury and it is to be sent to Vanaheim, to him, as a sort of… formal apology.”

I stared at him and then whispered, “I am sorry, Loki.”

But then another smile broke out over his face and he beamed down at me, looking as if he could not contain his happiness. “No, it matters not, Stjarna. You are staying, everything is alright now.”

He put his hand on my side and drew me towards him, going to kiss me again, but I turned my head and stiffened in his arms. When Loki felt my unwillingness, he pulled back and looked at me oddly. His eyes flickered down and he saw some of my dresses draped over my arm.

And then he said, as if it had just come to him, “Stjarna, why did you leave my chambers?”

I swallowed nervously. “I… I did not think it wise to remain.”

“What?” he asked in bewilderment, letting go of me. “Why not?”

“I should not have… behaved so. I am sorry.”

I went to turn, but he caught my arm. “Stjarna, wait. What are you talking about? Why are you sorry?”

I faltered, fearing his reaction. “We should not have… done that, Loki. I should not have encouraged it. It is my fault.”

His expression fell and his fingers slipped from my arm.

I looked away, hating that look on his face.

“Stjarna… I… I thought…”

I glanced down at the floor. I knew what he had thought. He thought that after we had come so close, I might take him back. But what else would he have thought? And though a small part of me still longed for him—or was it only the happy memories of us that I desired?—I simply could not allow myself to go back to him.

“I know,” I breathed, too afraid to meet his gaze. “I am sorry.”

I did not look at him as I turned around. I knew he had to be wondering why I was doing this to him after I had allowed him so far earlier, why now it was as if I could not bear to have him touch me, but it had all just been a terrible lapse in judgment. We had come far too close.

And so I left him standing there.

He did not follow me, thankfully, and once I was within the confines of my own chambers, I let my clothes fall to the floor and I put my hands over my face. I wanted to cry, but no tears came. I should have been happy, I should have been delirious with relief that I was not exiled, but all I felt was this crushing despondency.

I had wanted him so badly earlier, but I knew that afterwards I would have regretted it. Despite all Loki had done for me, there was a reason I had left him. I could be grateful to him for everything he had done this past week or so, but I would not give him my body as thanks, even if in that moment I had been all too willing, so pathetically desperate to feel him again.

Eventually I lay down in my bed. I was not tired in the least, but I closed my eyes and tried not to think of Loki. I attempted only to imagine my father and his wife and son. They would be here soon and we would be together again and all would be well. But in spite of my attempted self-consolation, I still was consumed with this inexplicable sadness.


	49. Part I - Chapter 49

Stjarnavetr

Valdrlund departed Asgard the next morning. I stood on my balcony and watched his royal procession as they left the palace and headed into the city towards Bifröst. I am sure people lined the streets for him as they had done upon his arrival, wishing to catch one last glimpse of the illustrious Van king, though they could not know the true nature of his departure. But he would smile at them anyway, I knew; he was such a talented actor.

I knew not what I felt in watching him leave. I suspected that it might be the last time I ever saw him. I hoped it was so, but even though he was physically gone, I knew he would never truly leave me. Valdrlund had been such a prominent part of my life for so long; he had taken nearly everything from me and my only consolation now was that he was gone.

I stood there for a long time, leaning over the stone rail, thinking of him and the life I had been forced to leave behind in Vanaheim, when there was a knock on my door. I quickly straightened up and went back inside, thinking it might be Gullhár, but of course it was not.

Loki stood there and images of our near-coupling the morning before almost immediately pervaded my mind.

“I would speak with you, Stjarna,” he said, though not demandingly.

I hesitated for only a moment before opening my door wider. He slipped past me and I quietly shut the door, attempting to banish these inapt thoughts. When I turned around, he was standing there gazing stoically at me.

“Valdrlund has gone,” he remarked.

My voice was soft. “I know. I saw.”

We stood there for a moment in silence.

Finally, I asked, “Did the Allfather tell him about…?”

“Oh. Yes. Valdrlund is still incredibly displeased about not having you, that was obvious, but the prospect of my entire treasury in his pocket mollified him somewhat.” Loki’s voice was tinged with ire and I glanced down at the floor.

He did not say anything else and there was another uncomfortable silence.

“Did you only come to tell me that he had gone?” I ventured, already knowing the answer.

“No. I wished to speak with you about yesterday.”

I felt reluctance. “Oh, Loki… I do not—”

But he cut me off. “Was it a mistake?”

I looked up at him in surprise. “What?”

“You told me yesterday you were sorry. Why were you sorry?”

“Because…” I gave a little shake of my head, unable to meet his gaze. “Because we should not have let ourselves… we should not have done that.”

“You regret it, then?”

“Yes,” I answered faintly.

When I glanced up at him, I saw his jaw tighten.

“I am sorry, Loki,” I murmured.

He scoffed, then, and I could hear the frustration in his voice. “I don’t understand, Stjarna. If you never meant to have me, then why…”

When he trailed off, I chanced, “Why what?”

“When we kissed!” he exclaimed heatedly. “When you pulled me on top of you, when we almost…” he ran a shaky hand through his hair, something I knew he did when he was upset. “You made me think… you made me think you wanted me again.”

“I know,” I responded quietly. “I truly am sorry, Loki, I did not mean to…”

But I hardly knew what I was saying. I knew he was upset with me and I could understand why, but I did not think I could explain why.

“Did not mean to do what?” he demanded suddenly, catching me by surprise. “You did not mean to play me?”

My mouth fell open in shock at his accusation. “What? No, that is not—”

“Then you did not mean to do what?” he persisted, his voice rising. “I want to know.”

I shook my head, struggling to find the words, but they did not come. “I… I…”

“Well?” he insisted.

Frustratingly enough, I could already feel myself on the verge of tears. Loki took a step forward, his angry gaze boring into mine, but I did not know, I did not know how to answer him, and he kept pushing and pushing and finally I could not take it.

“I was scared!” I cried, feeling my eyes sting with tears. He stopped, looking slightly surprised, and then my voice broke and the tears came. “I was scared, Loki. I thought I was being exiled, I did not know, I do not…”

And still he was staring at me and I could not stand it. I turned around and attempted to suppress my tears. I hardly knew what it was that I felt. I still felt something for Loki, but I did not want to. I was thankful for everything he had done for me, but now that it was all over I could remember what had led to our separation in the first place.

I did not know why I had responded to him like that yesterday morning, why I had kissed him back and pulled him on top of me. I had not been thinking clearly and had not realized the possible implications, what with the fear of my impending banishment. I had only been able to feel in that moment, only able to remember what we used to have and how much I had loved him, how still I loved him…

I wiped my eyes and whispered shakily, “I will always be grateful to you, Loki, but I… I cannot do that again.”

“Do what?” he asked, almost pleadingly.

“Be with you.”

Now his voice was laced with what sounded like desperation. “Why not?”

But I did not reply. How could I explain to him that I did not wish to risk being hurt again? Though the thought of it pained me, I had no doubt that he would inevitably hurt me again, be it a year from now or ten.

I heard his soft footsteps behind me and then felt him touch me. He gently turned me around and I looked tearfully up at him.

“Stjarna, I want you. And I know you want me—”

“But I can’t!” I said pitifully, taking a step back.

“Why?”

I looked down at my hands, which were shaking slightly. “Because I would always doubt you and… I do not want it to be that way.”

I could feel his stare and I felt awful, but it was the truth. On the nights when I did not stay with him, the suspicion of another woman in his bed would gnaw at me. When we were apart, I would think he might be flirting with or kissing on another woman as he had done when we were still together. I did not want it to be like that again and I did not want to make myself sick with worry. Though Loki had done much for me, I could not simply forget everything else. I could not force myself to accept it.

“Stjarna,” Loki implored. “I want you to trust me again.”

Now I looked up at him and my tone was incredulous. “How can I do that, Loki? You ask me to trust you after what you did to me? Would you trust you?”

He gazed despondently at me. “No. I would not.”

“Then how can you ask me to?”

Now I thought back to when I had found out he had been lying with other women nearly the entire time we had been together. I remembered how I had torn myself apart imagining him and those others. I had wondered if it was my fault he had sought the company of other women, if it was because I had not pleased him like they did. I had pictured him with them, kissing them and touching them, wondering if he called them darling as he did me, if he told them all the things he told me when we lay together.

When I looked down at the floor and did not speak further, it appeared as if Loki meant to take my hand in his, but he stopped himself.

“Stjarna,” he said quietly. “You mean more to me than any of those others ever did. I did not realize the enormity of my indiscretions until after… only when it was too late.”

I allowed my eyes to drift upwards to meet his. Gods, how I wanted to believe him, but I knew there was a part of me that might never trust him again. Always there would be that nagging in the back of my mind, forcing me to question the truth in everything he said, in everything he did.

Oh, but had I not been content in my ignorance? I could not deny how happy I had been with him and some traitorous part of me wanted to simply give in. Some little part of me wanted to fall into his arms and kiss him and say yes, I still wanted him, but I could not. The past would not let me.

I gave a little shake of my head. “Loki…”

But then Loki reached out and took my hands in his, apparently no longer caring that I might pull away.

“Stjarna,” he said, sounding distraught. “I do not deny it. I am cruel and thoughtless and stupid and I have done you wrong and I am sorry for it whether you believe me or not.” Now he paused and his fingers tightened around mine, as if he was nervous, and his voice softened. “But I must admit something to you. I have been meaning to tell you, but have struggled to find the words and was unsure as to how you would react…”

I stared at him, anxiously anticipating whatever it was he wished to confess.

He hesitated and then said, “Stjarna, I am in—”

But he was suddenly cut off by a loud knocking on my door.

I quickly pulled my hands from his, startled by the sound, and turned around. I stood there, debating briefly on what to do, and ultimately chose the door. I went to it, opened it, and was surprised to see Fulla. She was smiling, but her smile slowly fell when she saw my surely reddened eyes and Loki behind me.

“I went to the prince’s chambers, but nobody answered,” she explained quietly. “The queen has summoned you, Stjarnavetr.” And then she hesitated. “Also, I believe she would appreciate if Prince Loki came along, as well.”

I glanced briefly down at the floor and nodded. “Thank you, Fulla. We will only be a moment.”

She nodded and turned to wait. I closed the door and left it open a crack before turning back around to face Loki.

He had not moved, but still looked entreating. “Stjarna, I must tell you—”

“We should go,” I said suddenly, feeling apprehensive. With how beleaguered Loki appeared, I was not sure I wanted to know whatever it was he wished to say. I suspected it might have been another confession about something unsavory he had done when we had been together and this was his attempt at admitting all of his faults and mistakes to me.

He seemed somewhat taken aback, but I turned back around and opened the door and stepped out into the corridor, where Fulla stood waiting. Loki, whose frustration I could practically feel emanating from him, wordlessly followed me out and we walked side by side behind Fulla, who led us towards the queen’s chambers.

As we walked, I wondered why the queen had summoned me. At first I thought it might have had something to do with my becoming a handmaiden again, but quickly dismissed that because Fulla had invited Loki to come as well.

I did not have to speculate for long, though.

Fulla flashed a smile at me as she led us into the queen’s rooms. The receiving chamber was empty of the other women, which struck me as odd because at this time of morning they would have all been here.

My eyes quickly landed on Queen Frigga, who sat in a chair, and then on the man who sat next to her.

My breath caught in my throat and my eyes widened.

“Father?”

He rose up out of the chair and the corner of his lips twitched upwards in a tentative smile.

It was as if all else fell away in that moment; I did not feel Loki beside me, nor Fulla off to the side.

I took a faltering step forward and then I was running, just as I had done years ago when Loki had brought him from Vanaheim for me. He opened his arms and I threw mine around him and buried my face in his chest. He kissed the top of my head and I squeezed my eyes shut and clutched him tightly.

“Oh, my daughter,” he murmured, his voice choked with tears. When he spoke, I was unable to swallow my own tears and began to cry—I had not heard his voice in so long.

Though I had known he was coming, it still almost did not seem real. I had not seen him in so long, had not touched him, that he had seemed nothing but a distant memory. But now here he stood and I could touch him and hold him.

Father held me for a while longer, allowing me to weep quietly, before he managed to pry me off of him.

“Stjarna,” he said gently, taking my face in his worn hands and wiping the tears from my cheeks with his thumbs. He smiled, then, and motioned for me to look. I turned and saw a woman standing by the fireplace. I had not even seen her when I had come in, for my attention had been immediately drawn to my father.

It was Konavefr.

I grinned widely, tears rolling down my face, as Father walked me up to her. She looked just as I remembered. She had pale blue eyes and thick brown hair, which was pulled up to the back of her head; her smile was warm and she just looked the motherly type. She tilted her head and smiled and I closed my eyes and leaned forward to embrace her. I had known Konavefr when I was a child and still living with my father in Vanaheim. She had helped to care for me when my mother had died and I knew Father could have chosen no better woman to marry after my mother.

Konavefr kissed my cheek and I felt my mother’s kiss. She whispered, “My darling, it is so wonderful to see you.”

But I could not reply, for the tears caught in my throat prevented me from speaking. I only held her closer, still hardly able to believe that they were actually here.

After a long moment, she pulled away and it was only then when I noticed the boy hiding behind her skirts. He looked up at me with big, vital eyes. They were the same color as mine, though his hair was the same warm shade of brown as Konavefr’s.

“Réttrmund,” Konavefr said gently. “This is Stjarnavetr, your sister. Remember we told you of her?”

He gave a little nod, but otherwise did not respond. He was still staring wide-eyed up at me.

I knew he was most likely frightened. He was young and could not have possibly known what was happening. Surely it was disconcerting to be so suddenly uprooted from his home and dragged to another realm, and then to be around all of these new, strange people.

I did not touch him, though I wished desperately to embrace him—my little brother.

And then he said in that childish voice of his, “Are you a princess?”

My lips parted in surprise. “A princess?”

His eyes darted to the side and I turned my head to look. Réttrmund was staring at Loki, who had migrated from his spot by the door to stand by his mother and was watching us.

I turned back to Réttrmund, who then asked, “Are you Prince Loki’s wife?”

There was a beat of silence—and then laughter.

Behind me, the queen was laughing at Réttrmund’s childish comment, but nobody else was. Konavefr, despite the queen’s amusement, looked embarrassed, but it was not Réttrmund’s fault. He was only a little boy, he did not know of what he spoke. I wondered what Father or Konavefr had said in Vanaheim about me, what Réttrmund might have overheard and misunderstood, for he had thought that I was married to Loki and therefore a princess. The fact that I had come into the room with Loki might have reinforced the belief.

“No, I am…” but I trailed off, for obviously I was not going to tell him I was not Loki’s wife, but had been his mistress at one time. He would not even know what that meant, though I knew one day he would come to know and understand. “I am only your sister.”

He giggled at my response, and quite possibly the queen’s laughter, and I smiled at him. How I would love to get to know him better in the coming months.

I looked at Konavefr, who beamed at me, and then at Father.

I turned around and looked at the queen, who was still seated. I walked over to her, feeling fresh tears beginning in my eyes. Once I stood before her, I dropped to my knees and bowed my head.

“Your Majesty,” I said tremulously. “I cannot thank you enough for what you have done.”

She put her fingers under my chin and lifted my head. I was surprised when she stood up and gently helped me to my feet before embracing me and kissing me on the cheek.

“I am glad to have done this for you, Stjarnavetr,” she whispered.

She pulled back and I smiled tearfully at her, noticing that her own eyes were filled with tears. Then I looked over at Loki, who was gazing at me. I turned and wrapped my arms around him and closed my eyes.

“Thank you, Loki,” I murmured. If it had not been for him, I might be by Valdrlund’s side now, accompanying him back to Vanaheim. Even if I did not think Loki and I could be together, I still was eternally grateful to him.

After a moment, Loki wrapped his arms around me and held me tightly, but when he let me go and I smiled at him, he did not smile back. He almost appeared remorseful.

“Stjarnavetr,” the queen said, drawing my attention away from Loki. “I think it best if you and your father have some time alone. I was hoping Konavefr and little Réttrmund might keep me company.”

“Yes,” I agreed, feeling incredibly appreciative.

And so my father and I left the queen’s chambers. Konavefr would stay with the queen, as would Réttrmund. I imagined Loki would leave soon after, for he would have no interest in what Konavefr and the queen spoke about—womanly things, he would suspect.

Once outside of the queen’s chambers, Father and I walked arm in arm. I stayed close to him and could not help but to keep looking at him. He appeared older than I remembered; he walked as if there was a weight upon his shoulders, but he smelled the exact same and previously forgotten memories of him and Vanaheim seemed to come flooding back.

But I did not have long to reflect on the past, for he began speaking.

“Queen Frigga told me everything, Stjarna. She told us about His Majesty King Valdrlund and what he did.”

I felt a sudden flare of apprehension in the pit of my stomach, but quickly realized it was only what Loki had told her, that Valdrlund had threatened my family. I could not imagine what it would do to my father if he found out about the night of the banquet. He would be more heartbroken than anything and he would blame himself. I knew he thought it his fault that Valdrlund had ever laid eyes upon me in the first place.

“We left only hours ago,” he explained. “The queen says we could not have come at a better time, for the king has only just returned home.”

“Vanaheim,” I quickly corrected him.

He glanced curiously at me.

“Just Vanaheim,” I reiterated, holding onto his arm more tightly. “Asgard is your home now, as it is mine. We are together now. Everything is alright.”

“Yes,” he conceded, not looking at me. I suspected it would take a while for them to assimilate to the Asgardian way of life. Though it was not tremendously different, there still were many disparities between the two cultures.

“Father?” I asked timidly. “Were you… struggling… in Vanaheim?”

I wanted to know if Valdrlund had lied to me or not.

“Yes,” Father admitted. “I could not find work. My name was not as esteemed as it once was.”

“But you will do well here,” I replied, attempting to sound buoyant. “You are too skilled an artist.”

“One can only hope,” he smiled. “The queen says she will arrange for us to live in the city. Truly, it is a loan, but I will pay her back. I am very grateful to her, Stjarna, as you should be.”

“Yes,” I said quickly. “I am indebted to her.”

We walked along in silence for a while, merely enjoying each other’s company. I was absolutely jovial. He was here now, along with Konavefr and my brother, and they would be so close I would be able to regularly visit them. But then I wondered, why would I be restricted to only visits?

And then an idea took form in my mind. What if I left court and chose to live with my father again? Now that Loki and I were separated, and I had no plans to return to him, what was keeping me here? As I had told the queen before, there was nothing left for me here. Though I loved her and would be sad to leave Gullhár and the others, the thought of living with my family filled me with gladness.

Suddenly, Father said my name, drawing me out of my little reverie.

“Yes, Father?”

“Are you still… with… His Highness? Prince Loki?”

I hesitated and looked down at the ground as we went along. “No,” I whispered. “I am not.”

Now he seemed slightly confused. “You are not?”

I am sure he was wondering why Loki had gone to such great lengths to bring them here, to save me, if I was not warming his bed, but I did not wish to speak of it.

I stopped him and took his face in my hands. His skin was worn and there were more wrinkles there since last I had seen him. His hair was nearly completely grey now, his mouth still slack, but his eyes did not seem so dull.

I smiled at him and felt tears stinging in my eyes.

“You are here now. That is all that matters. We are together again.”

__

The queen did as she promised my father and within a week had moved him, Konavefr, and Réttrmund into a house near the outskirts of the city. It was not a grand house by any means, but it was enough for them to live comfortably. My father, though ashamed at being forced to accept such charity, was deeply grateful, but it was not much of an investment for the queen and I knew my father was good on his word when he said he would repay her.

During the first couple of weeks after my family’s arrival from Vanaheim, I was back and forth between the palace and their new home. With every subsequent visit, the idea of leaving court became more and more appealing and I kept turning it over in my mind and eventually told my father. He embraced me and told me he would love nothing more than for me to come home to them.

And so the very next day, I told the queen.

She expressed sadness that I was leaving, but would not deny me this. She knew I loved my father dearly and though dismayed by my eventual departure, readily gave me leave. She was happy for me and once again, I had hardly been able to put my thanks into words.

She asked only one thing of me, though. There was a banquet coming up and its original purpose had been to once again celebrate the renewal of the Aesir-Vanir treaty. Though Valdrlund had already gone, to keep up appearances the Allfather would not cancel it. The queen wished for me to stay until after it and I agreed.

__

It had only been a little over two weeks since my family had come from Vanaheim and all seemed well. I was slated to leave the day after the banquet, which was to take place less than a week from now. I already had all of my things packed and ready, for I was eager to leave.

All I could ever think of was waking up in the morning and going downstairs and seeing my father there with Konavefr and my brother. The thought of that filled me with such elation. No longer was my family scattered and broken—we were whole again.

And yet always in the back of my mind was Loki.

We had not spoken since that morning when Valdrlund had gone and my family arrived. I was not sure if he had sought me out since then, for I had spent much time down in the city at my father’s new home. Though I had not sought him out, either, something was still bothering me.

It did not feel right that I should leave court without a parting word to him, for without him, none of this would have come to pass.

And so one night I found myself pacing, if it could be called that, in front of his door. It was nighttime, well after dinner had ended. I had gone to my rooms afterwards and worked up the courage to come and see him, to come and tell him…

He did not know yet that I was leaving. I had wondered if the queen might have told him, but figured he would have come to speak to me about it. It was because of this that I suspected he did not know.

Though we were not together anymore, I did not wish for him to inquire after me one day only to learn that I had gone without even a farewell. In spite of all that he had done to me, those years that we had shared together were worth at least a goodbye.

At last I gathered myself and went up to his door. I could not deny that I was afraid of how he would react, but finally I knocked and within moments the door was opened.

Loki seemed surprised to see me.

“Stjarna.”

My voice was quiet. “Loki. May I come in?”

“Yes,” he said, immediately stepping aside. I lowered my head, went in, and turned back around just as he shut the door. We stood there in an awkward silence before he motioned to a flagon of wine on his table and said, “Would you like a drink?”

I glanced over, but shook my head. “No. Thank you.”

There was another silence and I thought it almost funny the things we had done together and now it felt as if we had never laughed before, as if we had never shared each other’s bodies and woken up in a tangle of limbs in the morning—as if we had never been anything more than strangers.

I suppose that was the saddest of all, that when I looked at him standing there, knowing he wanted me back, knowing he would get on his knees and beg me if I asked him to, all I could think of was how everything we had once had was lost. Whatever it had been between us, lust or love, it was all reduced to ash now and I did not know if it could ever truly be rekindled.

But I did not want to hate him anymore. At one time, I had despised Loki utterly for what he had done to me and I never thought I would have been able to let go of it. My hatred for him had been such a sure thing and so easily felt, so easily held onto, but I did not feel hate for him as I once had—only this treacherous desire still. I knew I still loved him, though I did not want to. I just wanted to be rid of it all, both my hate for him and my love. In time it would all fade away, I knew, and then I could truly be free of him.

The best way to do this was for me to leave, to be away from him and the court and all of these memories.

But I felt I could not tell him, not with him regarding me like that.

And so in my cowardice, I said, “I came to thank you.”

“To thank me?”

“Yes. I… I feel I’ve not been able to do it properly and I wanted to tell you that my family… they’re good now. They’re happy.”

“I am glad for that,” he said sincerely.

Now I paused.

“Loki, what you have done for me is wonderful and I know not how I shall ever repay you.”

He took a step towards me, but then stopped. “Stjarna, if they ever need anything, I would not hesitate to provide it, once I am able. Money or assistance of any kind, I could make it happen.”

I gave a small nod, astounded by his most generous offer.

“Thank you,” I murmured. I looked down at my hands, feeling terrible, but knew that if I did not tell him now, I might not ever be able to.

But before I could open my mouth to speak, he ventured, “Stjarna?”

I glanced up at him. “Yes?”

He seemed to be uncertain, but then asked quietly, “Would you ever forgive me what I’ve done?”

My lips parted in surprise and I stared at him. I had hoped to avoid something like this, but it was foolish of me to have thought he might not bring it up.

I thought about it for a moment, but knew I would never forget what he had done to me, nor what he had said to me—what he had called me.

“No,” I responded, my voice barely above a whisper. “I would not.”

He regarded me and I could see the sorrow in his gaze, but he did not say anything for a long time.

Finally, he said, “What could I do to make it up to you, Stjarna? To show you that I will not hurt you again?”

But I shook my head. I did not want him to do this. I had only come to tell him…

“There is nothing you can do, Loki.”

“But—”

“There is something else,” I said quickly, feeling my insides twist in nervousness. “There is something else I must tell you. I did not think it would be right otherwise…”

Now he gazed at me warily, but remained silent.

I swallowed hard, feeling miserable, and could barely hear myself when I spoke. “I am leaving.”

He blinked and looked at me as if he had heard incorrectly. His voice was soft, but disbelieving. “What?”

“I am leaving,” I repeated a little more loudly, but no less unhappily. “I am leaving court. I am going to live with my father.”

He appeared incredulous, but I knew not what else to say and so stood there in silence.

“You are leaving?” he breathed.

“Yes,” I answered quietly. “The morning after the upcoming banquet. The queen has given me leave.”

Loki let out a breath and glanced down, but he did not seem to be angry. Instead, he appeared stricken and I was filled with regret. But surely he would not try to keep me from going to be with my family?

“Stjarna…”

“I do not want you to be upset,” I said quickly. “I do not want you to hate me because of this.”

He slowly looked up at me. “I could not hate you, Stjarna.”

“It is just… I wanted to tell you. After everything…”

“But I would never see you.”

I shifted on my feet. “No. This… I came to say goodbye. We would not…”

But the look on his face caused the words to die in my throat and I trailed off.

His voice was beseeching. “Please do not go.”

“Loki, there is nothing left for me here—”

“There is me,” he said, somewhat desperately, taking another step towards me.

I shook my head and felt the tears coming on. My voice was soft, imploring him to stop, to not make this any harder. “No, Loki.”

“You could stay here, you could still visit them as often as you’d like—”

I shook my head again, effectively cutting him off. “Loki, please…”

“Do not go, Stjarna.”

“I have to—”

“No, you don’t!” he exclaimed, looking frantic. “What can I do to make you stay? What do you want me to do, Stjarna? I will do anything you ask of me.”

I tilted my head and gazed sadly at him. It did not seem right for him to be so distressed. Loki was always so in control of himself, he was not the type to often lose his composure, and I did not like seeing him like this—begging.

I pressed my lips together and glanced down at the floor. The tears that had been blurring my vision rolled down my cheeks with the movement and I swallowed hard. I wished he would not make this so difficult. I wished he would just give up.

Now I looked back up at him and I felt a pang when I saw tears in his eyes.

My chin trembled and my voice shook. “I want you to let me go.”

His lips parted slightly and he stared dejectedly at me. I lowered my head, no longer able to hold his doleful gaze.

“You will not stay for me, will you?” he breathed, and I could hear the sorrow in his voice.

“No,” I whispered tearfully.

He did not say anything for a long time. And then softly, as if he would choke on the words, he said, “Very well, Stjarna.”

As soon as he said the words, I closed my eyes and it felt as if something inside of me broke. He had been trying for so long, but now that it was done—finally—it seemed wrong. It was not happiness I felt, nor relief, but remorse. But had I not wanted this? Had I not wanted him to give up on me?

I swallowed my tears and reluctantly allowed my eyes to drift upwards. Loki was not looking at me, though; his head was turned and he was gazing numbly off to the side.

Suddenly, I felt that I could not be here any longer. I went past Loki, but he did not acknowledge me or reach out to stop me. I grabbed the handle and opened the door, but something made me pause. I slowly turned. Loki still stood there, his back to me, and he had not moved.

“Loki?”

He turned around and I faltered when I saw his eyes brimming with tears.

I hesitated, but then said softly, “I don’t hate you anymore.”

I did not know why I was telling him this. Perhaps to assuage him? To let him know that our last words were not ones of enmity, and that though our parting was solemn, it was not one of hatred. I did not want us to end like that. Though he had done me wrong, and though words of degradation and animosity had passed between us, I did not want him or me to remember us like that.

When I looked back on all of this, I did not want to think of him with loathing, but with some resigned sense of cordiality, with some reserved feeling of love. That when he looked back on us, he knew I had not left hating him.

“I don’t hate you,” I reiterated, giving a slight shake of my head. “I just want you to know that.”

He wavered, looking unsure. “Stjarna, I…”

And I waited for him, but now he appeared unable to speak. Finally, he let out a breath, looked away, and closed his eyes.

I lingered only another moment, for there was nothing left to be said, and left him there alone.

I had not even made it halfway to my chambers before I broke down. There was this pain inside my chest and this sickness in my stomach and I could not see for the tears blinding me. Soon I could not even walk and I stopped in a darkened corridor and pressed my forehead to a column. I began to cry and soon enough my body was shaking and the echoes of my anguished weeping filled the empty corridor.

I could not get him out of my mind—that wretched look on his face, the slump of his shoulders, the despair in his voice—and I cursed myself. I wanted this to be over, I just wanted to be rid of him. That part of my life was over now, at last. I was supposed to be starting over, but I did not feel like I was moving forward, only backwards, and I did not understand.

I should have been happy, I should have been elated. My family was here and I was going to be with them soon. After so long, everything was finally right, everything had finally fallen into place, and yet suddenly it felt as if everything was wrong.


	50. Part I - Chapter 50

Stjarnavetr

The following week passed by rather quickly.

The other handmaidens were dismayed to learn that I was leaving, but of course they understood my reasoning. Gullhár expressed sadness and insisted that I come to visit them in the future, but I was reluctant to promise anything of that sort.

Though I should have been thrilled that I was going to be with my family again, I was fairly melancholy that week. Not only was I saddened at the thought of leaving my friends and the queen, but I also was unable to get Loki out of my mind. I tried not to think of him, but sometimes I could not help it and he would pervade my thoughts. I felt somewhat penitent at how we had parted, but reasoned that soon I would be gone and everything would go back to how it had been before I had come here.

Eventually, the banquet came and subsequently my last night in the palace.

Though Valdrlund had gone, the Allfather spoke of it all as if the relationship between the two realms could not be healthier. I am sure that not many were fooled. Though the gossip at court could be relatively unreliable, the gossip I had heard seemed mostly to be true, for I had been privy to much of it due to Loki and my having briefly shared Valdrlund’s bed.

Nonetheless, I wanted to enjoy tonight, for it was my last night here. I did not want to sit against the wall as I usually did and so Gullhár and I wandered around and mingled after the tables had been cleared and the dancing begun.

Gullhár and I were standing with Maerrhár and Málvit. Maerrhár was telling us about something foolish her husband had done the other day and we were laughing when quite suddenly the others fell silent. I turned my head when I saw their eyes land on something behind me, wondering why they had stopped laughing, and my heart fell when I saw Loki standing there.

No smile lit up my face as it always had when he came down from the high table to be with me, though, and I only bowed my head to him as did the others.

“Your Highness,” I murmured.

“Stjarna,” he said, extending his hand. “Would you care to dance with me?”

I stared at his hand and then up at his face, disbelieving.

I thought our discussion a week earlier had essentially been our farewell, when he had agreed to let me go. So what was he doing now?

I could feel the stares of the other girls and when I hesitated, feeling indecisive, Loki remarked, “Tonight is your last night in the palace, is it not? You would not dance with me one last time, Stjarna?”

I knew I should not have, but it seemed that I was so adept at doing things I should not have. Besides, Loki was right—this would be our last dance. It was not as if anything would come of it.

I tentatively slipped my fingers into his hand and he smiled at me. He led me out onto the floor, where a dance had just ended and another one was about to begin.

Loki turned to face me. He raised my hand into the air and splayed his long fingers on my hip. He did not pull me against him as he had used to, though, nor did he grin licentiously at me or smirk playfully. Instead, his expression was only carefully stoic. I could tell he was making an effort to not make me uncomfortable, which in some small way I appreciated.

And yet I could not look at him, though I could feel his gaze on me. Instead I let my eyes wander about, watching those around us, until the music began. I stumbled once, but Loki did not say anything and fairly soon I fell into step with him and we moved together very well.

Loki was the first to speak.

“How is your family?”

I had actually just visited them two days before and I said so. “They are doing well.”

“That is good,” he mused. “And how is Réttrmund?”

I could not help the smile that broke out over my face at the mention of my little brother. “Oh, Loki, I love him. He is wonderful, and so curious. He loves to sit and listen to me talk about Vanaheim and Asgard. He asks me all sorts of questions about the palace and the royal family. It interests him.”

Now it was Loki’s turn to smile. “Does he still think we are married?”

Though it truly was not that funny, and it almost felt wrong, I laughed. “Not anymore. Though he did once accidentally call me Princess Stjarna.”

“So do they like the house?”

“Yes. We will be happy there.”

Loki’s smile fell slightly and he did not respond to that. There came a rise in the music and Loki turned me, keeping his eyes fixed on me the entire time. When he pulled me back to him, I noticed he held me a little closer than before.

“You look very beautiful tonight, Stjarna,” he murmured.

“Do not,” I said quickly, looking up at him in seriousness. I was not flattered by his comment, but instead felt all this warmth from talking about Réttrmund quickly dissipate. “Do not do this.”

His smile fell and he relaxed his hold on me and we finished the dance in silence.

As soon as the music ended, I pulled my hand from Loki’s and took a step back. Though it had not been as bad as I suspected, I was still glad it was over. I should have known he would ruin it and say something like that.

I turned my head to search for Gullhár and the others, for I wished to return to them, but Loki said my name, causing me to glance back up at him.

He smiled tentatively at me. “Would you mind to walk with me, Stjarna?”

“Walk?” I asked in surprise.

“Yes. Outside.”

I felt reluctance. Had the dance not been enough? Besides, I knew protocol required he stay. But then again, Loki had done many things to oppose protocol this year. I imagined he did not care anymore, if he ever truly had.

But I knew tonight would be the last time I might see him like this; I supposed I could afford him one last walk with me. I also could not deny that some small part of me did wish to go with him.

I gave a small nod and it was apparent by his expression that he had not expected me to so easily consent. He held his arm out for me and I took it; he led me towards the open doors at the end of the hall and I could feel many eyes upon us as we walked, but I did my best to ignore them.

Eventually, we made it outside. Loki took me to one of the larger courtyards of the palace, located very near to the great hall. Surprisingly enough, there were no other courtiers here. I knew sometimes the heat and the noise of the great hall became too much for some and they came outside to cool off.

There were none here save for us; there was a cool breeze blowing and the only sounds to be heard were our soft footsteps and the drowsy rustling of leaves in the trees.

We walked along in silence for a bit before I inquired, “How is Thor?”

I had not heard much of Thor lately, since Loki and I were separated.

“Well enough, I suppose. He’s thinking about ending it with Ágaetliga.”

“Truly?” I asked, feeling genuine surprise. Thor had only had Ágaetliga for a few years now and the thought of him ending it with her saddened me. I knew how much Ágaetliga adored Thor.

And then suddenly, the outing we had all taken together less than a year ago came to mind, when we had picnicked under a large tree in the countryside. I recalled how surly Loki had been, and then quite involuntarily remembered afterwards when we had gone back to Loki’s chambers and he had made love to me. I distinctly remembered there having been fruit involved.

It all seemed so ridiculous now, but my lips curled up into a smile.

Much to my embarrassment, though, Loki happened to glance over and he saw my amused expression.

“What is so funny?”

“Oh,” I faltered, feeling foolish that after our rather teary parting a week ago, I was grinning at merely some silly memory of us. “I… I was just remembering.”

“Remembering what?”

I hesitated. “Our outing with Thor and Ágaetliga.”

“Oh.”

I shook my head. He would not understand why I was smiling. In truth, though, I did not even know why I was smiling. Our current situation was hardly one to evoke happiness of any kind.

It was now that I felt some sense of despondency. Had it truly only been less than a year since then? So much had happened in between, so much heartache and despair in the space of less than a year. It hardly seemed real.

“And what of you?” I said abruptly and unthinkingly, not wishing to dwell on the past. “Surely you will find another soon?”

But as soon as I said it, I pressed my lips together. What an absolutely idiotic thing to say—and as if I truly cared to know.

Loki, however, did not miss a beat. “That is doubtful.”

“Is it?” I asked, somewhat surprised.

He looked sideways at me and gave me a half-smile. “Yes. I do believe you’ve ruined all other women for me, Stjarna.”

My lips parted in disbelief and I looked away. I was glad it was dark, for I did not wish for Loki to see how my cheeks flushed in embarrassment. “I do not see how that is possible.”

Loki had been keeping himself sufficiently occupied before I came to Asgard and I had no doubt that when I left the palace, he would once again fall back into his old routine.

“Do you not?” he laughed. “You are perfect in every way, Stjarna. No other woman compares to you.”

I felt uncomfortable, but remained quiet.

And then softly, as if musing to himself, “But I took you for granted. I did not realize what I already had.”

Once again I did not say anything, for I did not know how to respond to that.

We walked along in silence for a little while longer before Loki said quietly, “We were quite happy, weren’t we?”

I pressed my lips together, knowing where this was headed, but I would answer him this time. I said, my voice tinged with scorn, “I was happy in my ignorance.”

Loki did not reply to that, but instead came to a stop. He turned to me and I pulled my arm away, feeling a foreboding for how he was looking at me.

“Could we never get back to that, Stjarna? The way we were?”

I shook my head and took a step back. “Loki, what are you doing? Please do not do this.”

“I don’t want to let you go, Stjarna,” Loki said, echoing my words from a week before. He took a step towards me. “I still want to be with you. I still want to kiss you…”

I stared up at him, lips parted slightly and expression sorrowful. He looked hesitant, so unlike him, but then suddenly he was leaning forward and I was not stopping him and I closed my eyes just as his lips met with mine.

For some reason I did not turn my head or push him away; as soon as he kissed me, a thrill ran through my body and it traveled straight to my fingertips and toes. I was tingling all over and suddenly I yearned to lean forward into the kiss, to reach up and pull his body closer to mine, but I did not. Though I felt this treacherous desire beginning in me, my sense told me no.

Loki slowly pulled away and opened his eyes just as I did mine.

He smiled in what looked like relief or happiness—I could not tell which—and I felt tears stinging in my eyes.

And then he lowered his face for another kiss, more eagerly this time, but now I turned my head and took another step back.

“No, don’t,” I whispered, putting my hands up to keep him back. His expression fell, but I hardened myself against it. “Don’t do this, Loki. I am leaving tomorrow, it is useless.”

I turned around to walk away, to perhaps return to the great hall, but Loki caught my arm.

“Stjarna,” he implored. “Must you leave? Can you not stay, can we not put all of this behind us? Can we not start over?”

But I pulled away from him and shook my head. “No. I will always be grateful to you for bringing my family here, Loki, please believe me… but I will never forget what you did to me.”

Now I saw a flicker of exasperation on his face and I knew I should not have come here with him. I should have told him no and gone back to Gullhár and the others.

“Do you not believe I am sorry? How many—”

“It is not that!” I cried, my voice rising in frustration. “I do believe you, Loki, but that does not mean I can forgive you!”

My heated words silenced him and he stared at me, looking slightly injured.

My voice became quieter and my words seemed to sober him even more. “I loved you, Loki. I trusted you and you betrayed me. Being sorry does not fix it.”

“Then what does?” he beseeched.

I looked down, feeling helpless. “I don’t know. But it is too late. I am leaving tomorrow and then you will never have to see me again. You can go back to how it was before I came here.”

He shook his head, appearing distraught. “Stjarna, I don’t want it to go back to how it was before you. I want you, I—”

“But you cannot have me,” I said sharply, cutting him off. “It is over, Loki. I wish you would accept that.”

Before he could get another word out, before we could continue with this useless argument, I turned from him and walked quickly away, leaving him standing there alone.

I thought perhaps that I was going to return to the great hall, but I found myself instead headed towards my own chambers, and though I did not wish to, I thought of Loki. I was so frustrated; did he not understand that it truly was over between us? Did he not understand that his begging and his groveling would do no good?

Despite my attempted self-consolation, though, I could feel myself tearing up and I hated it because I did not know why. Why could I not suppress these feelings? I hated how he could so easily bring this out in me, even after everything he had put me through.

But I reasoned that I would be gone in the morning and then neither of us would have to think about this anymore.

I had made it to my door and was about to open it when I thought I heard footsteps behind me. I turned and was stunned to see Loki walking towards me, his stride determined. I said his name, more in exasperation than anything, but I did not think he heard me, for he did not reply. But then before I could even get another word out, he was upon me and I had no time to react as he took my head in his hands and kissed me hard, pushing me back. My back hit the door and the entire length of his body was pressed to mine and my face was lifted up to meet his lips.

Loki ran his long fingers up into my hair and opened my mouth with his and pushed his tongue past my teeth. I grabbed his wrists, but suddenly it felt as if all the fight had gone out of me; I let him kiss me and I told myself I did not push him away because he was practically pinning me to the door and it would do no good to fight.

When he finally broke the kiss and pulled his face back, I languidly opened my eyes, lips tingling.

“I cannot do it, Stjarna,” he murmured breathlessly. “I tried, but I cannot. I cannot let you go.”

I went to shake my head. “Loki, what—”

“I am not begging for your forgiveness anymore,” he said roughly, cutting me off. “If you will not give it, then fine, but I cannot stand this. You are all I think of and I have torn myself apart thinking on how I wronged you. Please tell me, please, that you would ever take me back.”

I stared up at him for a long moment, unsure of how to react, but soon enough this familiar indignation rose to the surface and I pushed him away. He let go of me and took a step back, looking slightly surprised.

“I am not so foolish this time,” I said coldly, though my voice trembled. “It would be as it was. You would lie to me again, you would—”

“No!” he cried. “No, Stjarna, you don’t understand—”

“What is it that I do not understand?” I demanded. “It is what you have shown me! And what you have shown me is that you are a liar. You have hurt me, Loki…”

“I never meant to,” he whispered. “I never meant for any of this to happen. I was a fool, Stjarna, but I realized it too late. How can I show you that I will not hurt you again?”

“You cannot,” I replied softly, looking down and off to the side.

Loki put his fingers under my chin and gently lifted my head.

“Would you allow me to try?” he breathed. “Would you give me another chance?”

Now my voice was choked with tears. “You will only hurt me again—”

“Stjarna,” he said firmly. “I will never again hurt you as I have done. I promise to you, I swear upon it, that I shall never again hurt you like that.”

“I don’t believe you,” I said tremulously, giving a little shake of my head. In truth, I was not sure whether to believe him or not, but in the end it was simply easier to lie to myself. “I don’t believe you…”

“Stjarna!” he snapped, taking my head in his hands and forcing me to look up at him. “Don’t you understand? I am in love with you. By all the gods, I am in love with you.”

And with that, he leaned down and captured my lips in a heady kiss. It was deep and insistent, much like the first one, and when he broke away, I could only stare wide-eyed up at him, lips parted in shock and eyes swimming with tears.

He was gazing down at me, but I could not read his expression; I only knew he was waiting for me.

But I felt I could not speak. My eyes slowly drifted downwards and I felt a tear roll down my cheek with the movement. My voice cracked when I finally spoke. “No, no…”

He was lying to me. He did not love me, how could he? Suddenly I remembered when I had admitted my own love for him, when we had been lying together and I kissing him—I remembered how he had turned his back on me, refused to even hear me, those terrible things he had said to me, how he had demeaned me… how could he love me?

“You are lying,” I finally whispered, turning my head to the side.

“No!” Loki said frantically, making me look at him. He gently stroked his thumb across my cheek, wiping away the wet trail left by my tear. “I am not lying to you. Never have I been more honest.” And then he smiled, as if only realizing it himself. “I am in love with you, Stjarna.”

But I slowly closed my eyes.

“Stjarna,” he murmured, and I found it difficult to once again look at him. “I miss you. I miss your laugh and your smile, I miss lying next to you at night. If only you will let me, I will make this up to you.”

“How would you do that?” I asked miserably, thinking back to all the times I had been lying alone in my bed, wishing desperately that Loki was there next to me, despite all he had done. “How could you possibly make this up to me?”

“I will never let you go a day without knowing how much I love you. You will never be in question of it and I will be there for you always.”

When I did not reply, stunned into silence, he pressed his forehead to mine. He lowered his arm, caught my hand in his, and twined our fingers together.

He whispered, “You need not forgive me, Stjarna, but every day hereafter I will show you how sorry I am and how much you mean to me.”

I closed my eyes again. Never would I have thought I would hear something like that come from him, something so absurdly sentimental, and yet so sincere. A part of me still wanted to push him away, to hang onto this misery and this doubt and call him a liar and tell him it was over, but another part of me was screaming to accept it—he was in love with me, he was sorry for what he had done and it was all past, we could begin anew…

And I stood there, frozen with indecision.

Loki must have sensed my silent agony and thought he would help me along; without a word, he closed his eyes and once again kissed me. His lips were soft against mine, the kiss gentle and affectionate, not like before. A warm feeling like a cloud spread through my entire body and I almost immediately melted into his arms.

Gods, how I loved his kisses—had always loved them. Whether they were soft and tender, or passionate and deep, they were always able to take my breath away.

Loki pulled back and I blinked slowly. In staring at him now, it seemed I could not even think straight. I could still feel the warmth of his lips upon mine, the heat of his body so close, and I found it difficult to remember why I had been so averse to him—or perhaps I purposefully did not wish to remember—and I only wanted for him to kiss me again.

And then there was a moment of painful indecision, only another moment of breathless hesitation, before I so impulsively, so unreservedly, opened myself up to this exhilarating uncertainty. But then had not our relationship initially been built on nothing but reckless dubiety?

The both of us moved towards one another at the same time, but Loki was stronger than me and once again pushed me back against the door. But I did not feel it; I was kissing him hard, pushing against him and trying to get as close as possible. I lifted up and draped my arms around his neck and he wrapped his arms around my middle and pulled me flush against him. The armor on his front pressed almost painfully into me, but I did not care; it only served to further accentuate the heat building inside me.

It was as if all inhibition was lost, then; I tilted my head up, breaking the kiss, and without missing a beat Loki turned his face to lavish attention to the side of my neck. His lips caressed my skin and I felt the wet heat of his tongue as he trailed it under my jaw up to the tender spot beneath my ear.

It felt so good, I did not want him to stop. He was not only kissing me, but pressing his nose into my skin, breathing me in, rubbing against me, and then down lower until he was bending his knees and peppering kisses along my collarbones, kissing the hollow of my throat, down further until his lips were on my breasts through my dress.

I leaned back against the door, breathing hard, fingers wrapped in his hair, and then he was on his knees in front of me; he wrapped his arms around my legs and pressed his forehead to my belly and all of a sudden it seemed as if his franticness had vanished. He only held me.

After a long moment, I gingerly tilted his head up. He looked up at me and even in the dimness of the corridor, I could see his eyes shining. We stared at one another for only another instant before he was getting to his feet, rising back up, and putting his hands on my sides to draw me to him and kiss me.

I reached behind me, fingers blindly seeking the door handle, and when I opened the door, Loki broke the kiss to look at me. I took his hand and pulled him into my room. He shut the door behind him and I drew him near to my table and then stood there in front of him, my heart beating quickly in my chest.

I drove all else from my mind as I reached up to begin undressing him. I focused on my fingers, moving only slightly clumsily over his armor. It had been so long since I had done this, but I still remembered every lace and clasp of his outfit.

Loki silently watched me, his expression almost mournful, as I took his armor off and set the pieces on the table. I could feel his eyes searching my face and I knew he wanted to touch me, but he restrained himself. And all the while, I was trying my best to push this worry and this doubt to the back of my mind.

Once he was divested of his armor and middle layers and down to just his tunic, I slipped my hands beneath the hem and ran my open palms up over his taut stomach. He raised his arms and I rose up on my tiptoes to pull his shirt off. When I had dropped it onto the table, I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his bare chest.

I could feel his heartbeat on my lips and I smiled to myself at the quickened rhythm—he was nervous. I put my hands back on his stomach and let them drift lower until I grasped the laces of his pants in my fingers, but just as I went to tug at them, Loki caught my hands in his.

“Stjarna, wait,” he said, somewhat anxiously.

I glanced up at him, wondering why he was stopping me.

“Not like this,” he whispered, turning and pulling me after him. He led me to my bed and gently pushed me back. I sat on the edge and looked up at him as he leaned down and put his hands on either side of me. He kissed me and I returned the kiss before dragging myself backwards into the middle of the bed.

Loki paused to kick his boots off before he followed me in. I could not help but to smile as I fell backwards, but he did not get on top of me as I thought he would. He only leaned over me and I noticed that he moved with some hesitation. Before when we had lain together, Loki could either be gentle or rough with me, but now he moved almost as if he was wary of startling me.

Nonetheless, wanting to assuage him and to feel him against me, I put my hands on his neck and drew him down to me. I kissed him hard and opened his mouth with mine; I ran my tongue through his open mouth, sought his own tongue out, and caught the faint, sweet taste of wine. As I continued to kiss him, Loki seemed to lose his reluctance. I opened my legs and he moved to settle his body between them.

I put one hand on the side of his head, tangling my fingers in his soft black hair, and the other I moved down to lightly splay on his hard chest. I squeezed my legs on him and could feel his hardness already pressing into my aching center through my dress. I was growing increasingly wet and could feel this painfully aching emptiness, this slickness pooling between my thighs in delicious, shameless anticipation.

And then I said his name, breathlessly.

He broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to mine.

“Make love to me,” I breathed, brushing my lips against his parted ones. “Make love to me, Loki.”

He pulled back to look at me and I stared up at him as his eyes searched mine. There was only another moment of hesitation before he closed his eyes and his lips collided with mine. He slipped his arms under mine and kissed me until my lips felt swollen and bruised, until my cheeks and neck were flushed and tingling from his attentions. How wonderful his kisses felt, how wonderful I knew he would feel, finally here to fill this emptiness in me.

No longer did we move so indolently or tentatively; I could feel his desperation, these fluttering kisses over my face, one for every day we were apart, one for every wasted moment and every cruel thought. Oh, but none of it mattered anymore—we were here now with only each other for comfort.

And then he was reaching beneath me, trying to get at the laces down my back. I lifted up, clutching myself to him, as his fingers quickly opened up the back of my dress. When he was done, I leaned back and watched with bated breath as he went to pull my dress up. I lifted my hips off the bed as he used both hands to push it up, and then I sat up and raised my arms so he could pull my dress and shift off in one movement. Just as he dropped my clothes off the side of the bed, I fell back with a bounce and lay spread out before him in naught but my shoes and stockings.

Loki gazed down at me, kneeling upright between my spread legs, and I regarded him somewhat circumspectly. I watched his eyes and though I knew he had apologized so ardently to me and stressed his regret for all he had done, he could not—or did not bother to—hide the hunger in his expression, nor the unadulterated lust in his gaze.

His eyes roved over my body, as if he was seeing me for the first time. He was slowly rubbing the tops of his thighs and I could practically feel his impatient desire rolling off of him. I remembered how frantic he had been with me that morning on his couch, how frantic I had been…

But before I could urge him on, wanting to feel him just as badly as he surely wanted to feel me, he put his hand on my leg and drew it down until he caught my ankle. I was still wearing my shoes and I managed to fully relax and ignore my pounding heart as he undid the little buckle and pulled it off. He did the same with my other shoe and pushed them off the bed. It was then when he peeled my stockings off, letting his fingers brush enticingly along my bare skin.

I reached down, unable to bear this teasing of his, purposeful or not, and grasped his hand and moved it up to my side. Loki leaned forward and supported himself above me on his other arm as I guided his hand up until it covered my breast. I watched his face, lips parted, as he lightly ran his thumb over my nipple, causing it to further harden, and then he lowered his face and took it into his mouth.

I closed my eyes and rolled my head to the side as he kissed and nibbled at me, coaxing a soft moan from my lips. I twined my fingers in his hair as he lavished affection to one breast with his mouth and the other with his hand. My breaths began to come faster and when he shifted between my legs, heat flared in my lower belly and the empty ache between my thighs seemed to intensify. I squeezed my legs on him, all too eager to feel what I had been without for so long.

Loki kissed and nipped at my breasts until they were tender, when merely a flick of his tongue could cause me to nearly twist beneath him. When I did not think I could take much more, Loki rose up and began to drag himself down my body, trailing tender and lingering kisses across my abdomen and belly as he went, down until he gingerly kissed the tangle of curls at the top of my legs. He gently pushed my legs apart and I held my breath, feeling a small flicker of nervousness in the pit of my stomach.

I stared up, waiting—I could feel his breath cool on my skin—and then he kissed me. My mouth fell open, the whimper caught in my throat, as he slowly ran his tongue up my sex, collecting my desire in his mouth. I could not help it, I drew my legs up and squeezed them on his head, and I curled my fingers on my stomach and tilted my head back.

Gods, I could hardly describe it. My entire body was thrumming with this pleasure and my breathing soon became erratic. I curled my toes in this heady delight; it felt as if he was savoring me, so indolent were the movements of his tongue and mouth. I reached down, seeking his hand, and found it resting on my upper thigh. I took his fingers and laced them with mine.

I was overwhelmed with joy at the feeling of his face between my legs and I could not lie still. With every roll of his tongue, every nip of his teeth, he took me higher and higher towards that most sought after peak. I was trying my best not to writhe beneath him, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to simply lie there.

He was taking his time with me, though; sucking and nibbling on that bud at the top of my sex, rolling his tongue through my folds, even pausing to kiss and nip at the soft flesh of my inner thighs. But no matter what he did, I was nearly delirious with pleasure at the feeling of his face between my legs. I was rising to it already, but just as I felt myself about to tumble over that edge, an intense fear gripped my insides and I squeezed his hand and desperately cried his name out.

But it was a different kind of desperation in my voice and Loki stopped to look up at me.

I nearly whimpered. “Stop, stop… I don’t want to yet…”

I did not want to come yet, least of all by myself. I wanted to come with him, I wanted him to come inside me.

Loki understood my somewhat impassioned plea. He lowered his eyes and planted one more kiss there, causing a thrill to course through me, before rising up on his arms and crawling over me. He leaned down to kiss me and I could taste myself on his tongue and feel my slickness still upon his lips.

He began touching me again, his hands heavy on my body, roving over my burning skin, and I was rising to his touch, eagerly anticipating what was to come.

Finally, feeling as if I could take no more of this, I ran my open hand down his front between us until I grasped the laces of his pants. Fairly soon I had them unlaced and I attempted to push them down. I was having a difficult time, what with my position, and so Loki reached to help me and soon enough his pants were down below his hips.

I lifted up to kiss him again just as I lightly wrapped my fingers around him.

Loki let out a short, involuntary groan into my mouth and turned his head to bury his face in my neck as I touched him. I closed my eyes as I felt him, lightly running my hand up and down his length. He was unbelievably aroused and I smiled to myself; it had always amazed me at how this part of him could be so hard and yet so soft at the same time, how he could bring me such pleasure. And even after everything, after all this time, my body was screaming for relief from this fire inside me and I wanted only Loki to sate it.

“Stjarna,” he murmured hotly into my neck, slightly pushing his hips forward. He kissed my skin and I felt the wetness of his tongue, the sharpness of his teeth as he lightly bit me, struggling to contain himself. The sultry tone of his voice only served to heighten my own desire, though.

I did not think I could even wait for him to take his pants off, I needed him inside me now; I guided him to my entrance and opened my legs even further. This thrilling blend of exhilaration and nervousness and fear was coursing through my veins, but I could hardly pause to let it worry me. Just as I let go of him and moved to slip my arms under his, he pushed into me.

My mouth fell open and I tilted my head back, nails digging into his skin, as he eased into me. I bent my legs and curled my toes as he slowly filled me, my body happily welcoming him in. Loki groaned into my skin and lifted up on his arms to push further into me, to fill me completely. I pressed my face into the front of his shoulder and squeezed my legs on his slim waist, relishing the marvelous feeling of his hard and lean body pressed so closely against mine, the feel of him filling me so entirely.

Gods, how I had missed him. It may have only been six months since we had been like this, but it had felt an eternity. I had used to lie in my bed at night and imagine us, even after he had hurt me like that. I would close my eyes and slip my fingers between my legs and imagine they were his, imagine that he was still there with me. I had not thought we would ever be together like this again, did not think I would ever feel like this again.

I was already panting at just the feeling of him deep inside me and I smiled weakly and let my head once again fall back. Loki was looking down at me, his own breaths coming heavier now, and when I smiled even more widely at him, he lowered his face and pressed his forehead to mine.

We did not move for a long moment; I could feel his breath warm on my parted lips, feel his heartbeat against my chest and inside me. He pushed his nose against mine and I murmured his name, overwhelmed by this feeling of utter fulfilment. Loki had ever been the only one to do this to me, the only one who I ever wanted to do this to me…

I whimpered in delight when he languidly rolled his hips against mine. He kissed me and opened my mouth with his; our lips moved against one another, our tongues seeking the warmth of each other’s mouths. Finally, Loki broke the kiss, once again leaving me breathless, and lowered his head to kiss and caress the side of my neck with his lips.

I felt as if I was about to burst from pleasure. There was a fire burning in my lower belly, desire searing through my veins, and this ineffable happiness swelling in my chest. When Loki and I had lain together in the past, there had always been that feeling of utter bliss, but it had been so long and already it was threatening to engulf me.

And then he slowly began moving his hips. His strokes were long and languorous and I could not help but to press my face into his neck and moan. Every wonderful thrust of his hips drew a soft, elated gasp from me and I raised my own hips to meet his thrusts. I kissed his neck, ran my tongue beneath his jaw, nipped at him as I knew he liked, even as he continued moving inside me, his own breaths hot and heavy on my flushed skin.

We moved together so perfectly, so harmoniously, as if we had never been apart. He had hurt me, there was no doubt, and I was not sure I would ever be able to truly forgive him for what he had done to me, but in this moment, I would gladly cry his name out, I would give myself to him however he wished it, and we would pay this homage to one another.

Each stroke was taking me higher, the slick sounds of our joined bodies mingling so sensually in the air with our gasps and groans, his loud panting and my breathless whimpers. I bit his shoulder to stifle my incessant gasping and could hardly lie still. I arched beneath him, nearly twisting, as he brought me closer and closer to that precipice I had already been so close to. Loki lowered his head, continuing to languidly thrust into me, and kissed me openmouthed, swallowing my whimpers with his kiss.

I could feel my imminent release coiling tight in my lower half, but it was not enough. I wanted more. I did not want slow, I did not want leisurely—I wanted to feel all of him, to receive everything he could give, as hard as he could give it…

“Loki,” I murmured frantically against his lips. “Don’t go slow, don’t…”

He cut me off with another heady kiss, so deep it took my breath away, and then he rose up on his arms and thrust hard into me, nearly driving me backwards on the bed. I cried out and let my head fall back, eyes closed. I wrapped my legs around his narrow waist as he began moving harder, faster, and already I could feel myself ready to succumb.

It was sitting heavy in the pit of my stomach, tightening, ready to burst, and I was lifting up, on the verge, my ragged breaths having nearly ceased as I begged it to come. And in those few seconds, teetering so precariously on the edge of euphoria, anticipating my fall, I managed to open my eyes.

Loki was looking down at me, lips parted, breaths coming hard and unevenly. His hair was hanging down, framing his face, and his eyes were focused on me.

“Loki,” I gasped, and he leaned down to engulf my mouth in a kiss just as he thrust once more into me.

I nearly immediately came apart.

I cried out and arched hard beneath him; I threw my head back, mouth wide open and eyes squeezed shut. I clutched him tighter to me, trying to bring him even deeper into me, and raked my nails down his back. I heard him groan faraway, but still he was moving inside me, despite my legs locked around his lower half.

I wanted cry out again, I wanted to scream, but now I could not make a sound; he was taking me higher and higher past that peak and stars were bursting behind my eyelids and it felt as if time had stopped, caught as I was in this torrent of ecstasy. My mind was blank, my very consciousness felt shattered, but everything was light and my body was made numb by this pleasure. I could not tell where I began and he ended and it seemed in that moment, we were making right all the wrong that had been done, mending all the hurt…

And through all of this, even as I crested on these relentless waves inside me, I could feel Loki’s hips stutter; he buried his face in between my neck and shoulder, bared his teeth against my skin and let out a broken groan. His held me tightly to him as his body went rigid and just as I began to float down from my high, gasping for air, I felt him come inside me.

He made a soft sound in the back of his throat and then his body shuddered and his breaths came hard and fast against my damp skin. My heart was pounding and I could feel his own frantic heartbeat, the way his chest was heaving against mine, how he was attempting to catch his breath.

I opened my eyes and stared straight up, mouth still open. When I blinked, a tear rolled down my face into my hair. I unlocked my legs from around Loki’s waist and let them fall back onto the bed before I closed my eyes and let my head fall limply to the side.

After a long moment, Loki roused himself. He lifted up, supporting himself above me on his forearms, and planted a gentle, listless kiss on my ear and then my cheek. He put his hands on either side of my face and lifted my head so I was looking up at him. When he saw the tears in my eyes and the little wet trails they had left on my skin, he wordlessly wiped them away with his thumbs and placed tender kisses on my cheeks, my nose, my eyelids, and then finally my parted lips.

I stared at him as he then brushed the damp hairs stuck to my face away, noticing how lucent his eyes appeared in the dimness of the room.

“Loki,” I said, somewhat hoarsely for how I had been crying out earlier, and so softly even I barely heard it. I felt my chin tremble and I felt so silly, but in that moment, I felt overwhelmed with emotion.

I did not say anything immediately, though, for a feeling of unease suddenly spread through me. I thought back to the last time we had been lying like this and I had so foolishly said those words to him. I slowly closed my mouth when I thought of all that had happened since then and all that had led up to this.

I had spent these past six months convincing myself that I hated him, that I could not love him. I had lied to myself, and to both Loki and the queen, but could no longer. I could not try to tell myself that I did not still love him—not with us lying here like this, not after…

I thought back to not even an hour before when Loki had admitted his own love for me. Tears blurred my vision and my voice shook. I put my hands on either side of his face and managed to swallow my tears.

“I love you,” I whispered. “I love you, Loki.”

As soon as I said it, his lips curled up into a smile and I felt a bloom of warmth in my chest—something I had not thought I would feel again, especially with him—and it spread so wonderfully through my body, filling me with such happiness.

I grinned tearfully as he kissed my forehead and murmured against my skin, “I love you, Stjarna.”

His words sent a rivulet of joy through me and I sought his lips out. As Loki eagerly kissed me back, he moved one of his hands down to my hip and rolled us onto our sides. He slipped out of me, kicked his pants off and onto the floor, and went to pull the covers down. He manipulated them and after we had resituated ourselves beneath them, Loki pulled me into his arms and tangled his legs with mine.

I pressed my face into his chest as he lovingly stroked my bare skin and I could not stop grinning. Though my eyes were still filled with tears and I felt as if I might burst into happy weeping at any moment, I could not stop smiling.

He loved me.

I knew not what it was that I felt. Valdrlund had told me all the time that he loved me, but I had never felt anything for him but occasional bouts of affection. But when Loki said it, it created an entirely different feeling in me. Earlier in the corridor when he had said it I had not believed him, but now that I felt it to be the truth, there was this indescribable joy I felt, warming me up from the inside, and I was smiling so widely I felt I could hardly contain it.

Gods, how long had I imagined it?

I remembered how brokenhearted I had been when Loki had said those hurtful things to me, but that all seemed so far away now. Though I knew it was foolish of me to seemingly dismiss it all now, I felt I could do nothing but that, enfolded so lovingly in his arms as I was now. I wanted to believe his words, I wanted to so badly believe that he truly did love me.

And lying here like this, I could.

I had tried to convince myself before that it was only the memories of us I missed, the good times we had shared together, but now I realized just how incredibly wrong I had been—how badly I truly had missed him. When I had lain in my bed alone and cried, it was his arms around me that I had so desperately craved, his warm body pressed against mine, and his murmured endearments. I was not sure I had realized before, or appreciated, how much comfort merely being in his arms could bring me, how safe and wanted I felt when he held me like this.

I closed my eyes and nestled further into his warm embrace. I could smell him so strongly; he smelled of sweat, both mine and his, but beneath it I could discern his own smell, the one I loved, evocative of the leather he often wore.

In that moment, I was so happy and I could not think of these past months and the sorrow they had brought me, but only the undeniable joy I felt in my heart. It all seemed so distant now, so mercifully remote.

After a long while, I turned so my back was against Loki’s front. He accommodated my changed position in silence and when I had gone still, he wrapped his arm around my middle. I took his hand in mine, kissed his fingers, and held it to my chest.

I could feel his strong heartbeat against my back and wondered how many times its steady rhythm had lulled me into sleep, but before I could let myself drift off to its comforting rhythm, Loki murmured my name.

I did not open my eyes, nor did I verbally respond. I was so sleepy, I only made a soft sound to answer.

He pressed his nose into the back of my shoulder and lightly kissed me. “Are you going to leave me tomorrow?”

As soon as he said it, I opened my eyes, no longer feeling so drowsy. I had not even thought about it. During all of this and after, it had not even occurred to me that tonight was meant to be my last here. I had completely forgotten.

I brought Loki’s hand up to my mouth and kissed it again. I curled up even further, holding his hand to my lips, but did not respond. I did not want our words to ruin this blessed silence and in truth, I knew not what to say. How was I supposed to choose between Loki and my father and family?

I had built myself up over these past couple of weeks, thinking how wonderful it would be to live with my family again, but that was before Loki… I could hardly imagine simply slipping away in the morning, as Loki had done to me the morning after I had told him I loved him.

Could I leave him like that after this?

But I did not regret this. I would not allow myself to. So many times before I had made decisions concerning Loki that I had afterwards regretted, but I would not now. I would have done this ten times over, and yet I was not sure if it was enough to keep me here.

And as the silence dragged on, Loki squeezed my fingers, as if reminding me that he was still waiting.

But I did not respond—I could not find it in myself to.

I did not want to think of the morning, when inevitably I would have to decide. I only wanted to lie here in silence with him, where everything felt perfect and we had only each other and I did not have to think of leaving.

For now, enfolded in his arms like this, I was content to pretend as if we could lie here forever.

 

END OF PART I


	51. Part I - Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set a year after the events of Part I – Chapter 50, this epilogue tells what happened between Loki and Stjarnavetr.

1 year later  
Stjarnavetr

I very much liked the view from my father’s house, for I could see the palace from here. It rose up above the rest of the city, its great golden spires piercing the belly of the sky. I thought it was a grand sight to wake up to and stood looking at it now, gazing out of the window of my room.

The queen had been generous to my father. Though the house she had given him was not the largest, nor the most sumptuous, it was not far to the city, either on horse or by foot. I liked that it was not nestled deep within the city, though, for everything was quiet and comfortable here.

Downstairs I could hear Konavefr puttering around, most likely cleaning up from breakfast. Father was not currently here. He had left earlier this morning to complete a commission in the city. I smiled when I thought of him. He was doing so well; his once illustrious reputation had followed him here and he was nearly constantly out working, but he was repaying the queen, he was proud to say, and he and Konavefr had been able to make the house into a home.

I was glad, for it seemed we all were happy.

I stood there for a while longer, but eventually grew tired of watching the nearby road. I pulled myself away and went downstairs.

The front door was wide open and outside I could hear Réttrmund shouting at invisible enemies. Father had recently made him a toy sword and he liked to pretend himself a warrior in battle. Normally Konavefr would have shouted at him for leaving the door open, but the day was warm and so she allowed it.

I went into the kitchen and saw Konavefr sitting at the table. I sat down across from her and smiled at the babe she held in her arms, not yet two months old. They had named him Svinngrunr, but I called him Svinn—Svinngrunr was too big a name for such a small being.

Svinn’s birth had been hard. Konavefr, in truth, had nearly died, and Father had been a mess throughout her entire labor. He had feared losing her the same way he had lost my mother over a century before, but with the aid of a healer, she had pulled through and Svinn had been born healthy.

“How is he?” I inquired, unable to keep from grinning when I saw him fist his tiny hand into a ball. He was suckling at her breast and she did not immediately reply.

Finally she said, “Good. He slept very well last night.”

I nodded. I knew Svinn had been having trouble sleeping as of late. At night, I would sometimes hear him crying and then Konavefr singing to him to put him back to sleep.

After a long moment, Konavefr looked up at me. She smiled. “I cannot wait until you have your own, Stjarnavetr. What beauties they will be.”

I smiled back at her, but did not say anything in response. Konavefr did not know that I could not bear children and neither did my father. I would never tell them, either, for inevitably they would wish to know why and I did not think I could stand to recount what had been done to me in Vanaheim.

Once Svinn had finished, Konavefr pulled her top back up and gingerly set her youngest son in his cradle by the table. Just as she finished tucking him in, Réttrmund ran into the kitchen, cheeks flushed with excitement.

“Sister,” he said to me, attempting to not sound so enthusiastic. “He is here.”

I laughed at Réttrmund’s excited state, but rose to follow him into the main room. He came to stand behind me, peering out, as I stood and leaned in the open doorway.

Down the path and just outside the fence, Loki was jumping down from his horse. He happened to glance up and he smiled when he saw me. As I watched him wrap the horse’s reins around a fencepost, my thoughts drifted back to that night just a little over a year ago.

The morning after the banquet, I had woken up in Loki’s arms. It had been early and I had lain there wrapped in his warm embrace, agonizing over what to do. I had not wanted to leave him, for I knew how unhappy I would be without him, but also had despaired at the thought of not going to be with my family.

But I had thought of how Loki had begged me to stay, when he had admitted his love for me and how we had lain together, and I could not justify my leaving him. I had not been able to imagine waking up in my own bed alone every day after that, always thinking of or regretting what might have been. I remembered I had woken him up with a kiss and told him I would stay with him.

I smiled to myself when I recalled how afterwards we had coupled twice more before he had called for breakfast to be brought to his chambers. We had spent the entire day in his rooms, nearly all of it in his bed, so easily picking up where we had left off. It truly was as if we had never been apart.

Still, though, I regularly visited my family since I did not want to miss Réttrmund’s growing up, nor Svinn’s. I saw them at least twice every week, and sometimes three times. Occasionally I would have permission from the queen to stay for an extended period of time and Loki, as now, would oftentimes come to collect me.

It did not seem that much had changed between Loki and I. Things had nearly returned to normal and it was almost as if there had never been a rift between us.

I still went to Loki’s chambers at night and stayed with him until the morning when we would part ways. More often now, though, Loki took me out. It was not because I demanded it, but he did it because he wanted it. I think in part he was still trying to make up for what he had done, but I never said anything and we never spoke of it. In fact, after that night when he had admitted his love for me, his having betrayed me was never mentioned again.

I had never forgiven Loki for what he had done to me, nor his hurtful words to me that day when it had all come to light, but I did not hold onto it and let it fester inside me. Initially, I was terrified that I might always feel suspicion or doubt, but I did not. It may have been my own naïveté, but when I was away from Loki now, I did not suspect him of infidelity. But I knew that if he inevitably did decide to once again betray me, there was nothing I could do about it except afterwards to leave him. I was confident, however, that Loki knew there would be no second chance. He knew if he lost me again, he would never again have me.

But I did not like thinking of that, anyway.

I smiled and began walking down the path towards Loki, leaving Réttrmund alone in the doorway. He stood outside the fence, waiting for me, and when I came to stand in front of him, he lowered his head and lightly kissed me.

“Are you ready?” he murmured against my lips.

“Yes,” I said, pulling away, “but I want you to do something for me.”

“What?”

I took his hand in mine and turned towards the house. “Will you come inside with me? You never do.”

Suddenly, Loki appeared hesitant. “Oh, I would rather not…”

“Please, Loki,” I beseeched, twining our fingers together. “You’ve never even spoken more than a dozen words to them.”

“There is a reason for that.”

“What is the reason?” I asked in surprise.

He looked serious. “They will not like me, Stjarna.”

“What? Why would they not?”

“Because I am the prince and you are my mistress,” he replied bluntly, not bothering to dress it up.

But I only laughed. “Loki, it is not as if we will break the news to them today. Both my father and Konavefr know perfectly well what… I am. They do not hate me for it and they do not hate you.”

My position as Loki’s mistress was hardly ever brought up when I stayed with my father and Konavefr. I knew that a woman was not usually viewed in such high regard when she shared a man’s bed that was not her husband, but Father and Konavefr did not treat me any differently, and when they spoke of Loki, they did not speak of him with disdain or dislike. I was very grateful to them for that. 

Loki, however, still looked tentative.

“You’ve not seen Svinn yet,” I implored. “I want you to see him, Loki.”

Finally, Loki acquiesced, knowing it was important to me.

I pulled him by the hand back up the path and into the house.

Réttrmund’s eyes grew wide when Loki came in and I had to stifle a laugh. Loki had only been in the house one other time and I knew his very presence excited my little brother. Réttrmund, though not knowing the exact nature of my relationship with Loki, still was old enough to know that we were together. He was constantly inquiring after Loki, wondering what the Asgardian prince did in the palace—what he did in his spare time, the types of lessons he had, the clothes he wore, and other trivial everyday things. I did not mind to indulge him, though, for it greatly interested him.

I let go of Loki’s hand, left him in the main room, and went towards the kitchen to tell Konavefr.

Behind me, I could hear Réttrmund speaking to Loki.

“Where is your helmet?”

“I do not have it with me.”

“Why?”

“I only wear it on formal occasions.”

“Will you bring it next time?”

“Why?”

“Sister said I could wear it.”

“Oh… erm…”

“I said no such thing,” I called. I heard Réttrmund laugh.

Konavefr glanced up at me when I entered the kitchen, looking slightly surprised. “Who is Réttrmund talking to? Is that the prince?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, Stjarnavetr, I am not in a state—”

“I only wanted for him to see Svinn,” I said with a smile.

“Oh, yes…” she murmured, going to lift Svinn up out of his cradle. She gently handed him to me and he cracked his tired eyes open, the same color as mine. I held him close to my breast, amazed by his chubby face; I ran my fingertip tenderly over his soft brow and grinned when he cooed.

A little part of me envisioned that he was mine. I could only imagine the love that could be felt for one’s own child—to gaze into those hopeful little eyes and know you had created something so beautiful, and for it to be all the better with one you loved. Though I would never know the feeling, I could still imagine.

I turned and went back into the main room, followed by Konavefr.

Loki was sitting down next to Réttrmund, who was prattling on about something to do with his pretend battles, and he glanced up when we entered. He looked so out of place sitting there with his hands clasped in his lap, so much more regal than his poorer surroundings. Oftentimes Loki looked so in control, but this was a relatively new setting for him and I knew he was somewhat uncomfortable.

“I am sorry for the mess,” Konavefr apologized, glaring at Réttrmund and attempting to excuse the clutter on the floor. “I was not expecting for you to come in…”

“He does not care,” I said with a laugh. I knew if Loki did not have a chambermaid to clean his chambers every morning after he left, his rooms would be in constant disarray. 

Réttrmund grudgingly made room for me so I could sit next to Loki. When I sat, Loki looked at Svinn, but otherwise did not say anything. Svinn wrapped his little fingers around mine and cooed again. I kissed his forehead and whispered, “Is he not beautiful?”

Loki looked skeptical and I laughed again. “Would you like to hold him?”

Loki immediately looked unsure. “Oh, no… it’s alright—”

“Here,” I said, going to hand Svinn to him.

Loki quickly took him, as if he feared I might drop him, and then held him awkwardly.

From across the room, Konavefr laughed. “Have you never held a babe before, Your Highness?”

“No,” Loki admitted, gazing down at Svinn. “There are none at court.”

I leaned over into Loki and reached up to touch Svinn’s soft, wispy hair.

Quietly, Loki said, “I have never understood their appeal.”

Konavefr laughed again. “One day you will have a nursery full of royal little babes, Prince Loki. It is like nothing else, having one of your own.”

Loki made a sound in the back of his throat and handed Svinn back to me. I took him back, but was quiet at Konavefr’s comment. I knew she had not meant anything by it, but the thought of Loki having children with another woman made me feel odd. But I could not say anything about it, and so I only smiled.

__

A little while later, Loki and I stood to leave. I kissed Réttrmund on the top of his head, though he rolled his eyes at me and said something about being too old for kisses, and then I kissed Konavefr on both cheeks and bid her farewell, asking her to tell my father the same when he returned, even though I had told him before he had left this morning.

As we went to leave, Konavefr stood up. “Your Highness?”

Loki stopped and turned to look at her.

Konavefr glanced at me and said kindly, “You may go on, Stjarnavetr. I would like to speak with His Highness, if he does not mind it?”

I gave a small nod, wondering what she could possibly have to say to him. He had been quiet nearly the entire time, only beginning to loosen up and speak more near the end. I left the house, went down the path towards Loki’s horse, a great black animal called Bíta, and stood there for only a minute or two before Loki emerged.

I began untying the reins of his horse for him, but then noticed Réttrmund following along, attempting to keep up with Loki’s long strides.

“Prince Loki?” Réttrmund called, for some reason clutching his play sword in his hand.

Loki came to a halt and turned around just as Réttrmund nearly ran into him. My little brother tilted his head up, for Loki was so much taller than him.

They stared at one another for a long moment before Réttrmund asked, “Do you know how to fight?”

“Yes,” Loki promptly replied.

Réttrmund grinned as if that was the best news he had heard all day. “With a sword?”

“Yes, but I prefer other weapons.”

My little brother furrowed his brows. He was young and knew only of swords and spears.

“Like what?”

Loki reached behind him, beneath a piece of leather near his lower back, and extracted one of his little silver throwing knives. He did not always carry them concealed on him and I was even more surprised that he would have them if only coming to collect me.

Loki squatted down before Réttrmund, so they were nearly the same height, and held the knife out. Réttrmund dropped his sword and took the knife to study it.

“It is a throwing knife,” Loki patiently explained. “You throw it at your enemy so you do not have to get so close and risk personal injury. They are a smarter way to fight.”

“Are you good with them?” Réttrmund inquired, still gazing in wonder at Loki’s knife.

I smiled to myself.

“Yes. I used them once to protect your sister.”

Réttrmund glanced up at Loki, his face lit up. “On Midgard?”

My smile grew. I had told him before about my and Loki’s trip to Midgard so many years ago.

“Yes. I killed four men at once and all from a distance. You could not do that with a sword, could you?”

Réttrmund looked absolutely awed and I fought back a laugh.

He looked back down at the little silver throwing knife. “I like it.”

And then to my immense surprise, Loki said, “Then you may keep it.”

“I may?” Réttrmund grinned widely. “Would you teach me how to use it?”

Loki paused and glanced over at me. I felt apprehension. Réttrmund was young and did not realize Loki had other responsibilities and that he probably could not be bothered with teaching a nine-year-old how to use a throwing knife.

Loki looked back at Réttrmund. “I cannot today, but next time I come to get your sister, I will show you.”

My lips parted in disbelief.

“But I want to fight with a sword, too,” Réttrmund said.

Loki pointed to Réttrmund’s play sword lying discarded on the ground.

“You have got one.”

“No,” Réttrmund replied, somewhat sadly, as he picked it up. “It is not real.”

Loki took the sword from Réttrmund and ran his fingers over it. Though it was only made of wood, and my father was certainly no master carpenter, Loki raised his eyebrows as if he was impressed with the quality of the sword.

“What a fine sword your father has made,” Loki observed. “It is well balanced.”

I wanted to laugh again, but remained silent.

“Someday I will have a real one,” Réttrmund declared, taking the sword back.

“Yes, but you must practice with this one first. To have a real sword requires much more responsibility.”

“I am responsible,” Réttrmund answered, sounding offended.

“I do not doubt you,” Loki said. “But nonetheless, this is a good sword until you have the real thing.”

Réttrmund beamed, looking proud.

Loki stood back up and I raised my eyebrows when Réttrmund gave Loki an exaggerated bow. Loki inclined his head to my little brother, which I knew would make his day, and then turned to come to me.

As he took the reins from me and I watched Réttrmund disappear back into the house, I murmured, “Thank you, Loki.”

“For what?”

I looked at him. “For being so kind to him. He admires you.”

Loki laughed. “He should not.”

“Why should he not?” I asked in confusion.

Loki chuckled and reached out to hook his fingers in the front of my belt. He pulled me towards him until our fronts were nearly touching and then leaned down until our noses were only inches apart. His voice was low and darkly alluring. “Because he does not know of the wicked things I do to you…”

“Loki!” I cried, pushing his arm away. Though Réttrmund had gone back in, probably to show Konavefr his new throwing knife—I threw a worried glance at the windows just to make sure he was not standing there watching us—and nobody was there to have heard Loki’s libidinous statement, I could feel my cheeks flush in embarrassment.

But Loki merely grinned at me, amused at my flustered state.

I tried to find my tongue, attempting to remember what I had been talking about before Loki had spoken so lewdly.

“You should not have encouraged him,” I finally said, watching as Loki straightened the saddle.

“Why not?”

“Because it is not as if Father could afford him a real sword.”

“I could.”

“You could what?”

“I could afford him a real sword.”

I was taken aback by his words. “You would have a sword forged for him?”

Loki shrugged, appearing nonchalant. “Yes.”

“Why?”

He laughed as if my question was foolish. “It would be no trouble, Stjarna.”

I glanced down at the ground and felt misgiving. Whatever sword Loki had made, it would be forged by the very one who made Thor and Loki’s own weapons. It would be of superb quality—not to mention expensive.

I shook my head, still not understanding. “But why would you do that?”

“Because it would make him happy and in turn make you happy.”

I stared at him, not knowing what to say. It still caught me by surprise when Loki acted with such consideration. It made me feel special, as well, for I was certain Loki would not have done something like that for anybody else. It filled me with some sort of warm delight that I was one of the few people he did not treat with scathing derision. Despite his disagreeable nature, Loki always treated me with such amity and tenderness.

I was still astounded at this unexpected show of kindness from him, but lifted up on my toes to plant a quick kiss on his lips. “Give me a moment, Loki. Let me get Bjalla.”

Bjalla was my own horse, a mare given to me by the queen for my weekly trips down to the city, but Loki stopped me.

“We will take Bíta today,” he said, grabbing me before I could go around the house to fetch her. “I will bring you back later to collect Bjalla.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Are you taking me somewhere?”

“Yes.”

I smiled to myself as Loki hoisted himself up onto Bíta’s broad back and extended his hand to help me up. I got up behind him and wrapped my arms around his torso. He pushed the horse into a gentle trot and I clasped my hands over his stomach and relaxed into him. 

He turned Bíta and we headed down the road and away from the city.

“Why were you late in coming out?” I inquired curiously.

“What are you talking about?”

“When Konavefr asked you to stay behind. What did she say?”

“She thanked me.”

“Thanked you? For what?”

“For having you. She said you seemed very happy with me.”

I did not say anything, but only smiled to myself and pressed my cheek to his back. So that meant Konavefr—and Father, most likely—had noticed a change in me. I could not deny, though, that I had become increasingly happier this past year since Loki and I had gotten back together.

“So what did you think of Svinn?” I finally asked, noticing that we were nearly to the wall separating the outskirts of the city from the outside.

“He is just a babe. What is there to think?”

I shook my head, but once again smiled to myself.

And then Loki said, “I wonder when you shall have another sibling.”

“Konavefr says she wants a houseful of children, but I am not sure Father feels the same,” I answered. “Perhaps she would want a little girl next, though.”

“A sister for you?”

I grinned and turned my face to press my forehead into his back, imagining a little sister. “Did you ever want a sister, Loki?”

“I never thought of it. Thor was a handful all by himself.”

“Would not have a sister been nice, though?”

“If she was similar in disposition to Thor, then no.”

“I hope I am a good sister,” I whispered, more to myself than to Loki.

“You are,” Loki assured me, letting go of the reins with one hand to cover mine on his lower stomach. “Réttrmund and Svinn are lucky to have a sister such as you.”

I smiled. “I cannot say the same for you, Loki. Thor could do with a better brother.”

“What?” he asked, feigning offense.

“Did not the other day you play a prank on him?”

Loki scoffed. “I thought it was funny and so did the others.”

“But Thor did not think it was funny.”

Loki still did not sound repentant. “I care not. He deserved it.”

I laughed and opened my eyes. I saw now that we were past the wall. The guards who stood watch there must have waved Loki through when they saw that it was the prince. I raised my head and lifted up slightly to peer over Loki’s shoulder.

He was taking me out into the countryside, to the fields. I liked the fields; they were so large one could not see the end of them if they tried, and the grasses were tall, nearly up to my waist. Loki did not bring me here as often as he did to our little grove or down into the city, for it was a farther ride, but we had been closer today since he had picked me up from my father’s house.

I was excited. When we came here, Loki would lay a blanket down and we would lie together amongst the swaying grass and stare up at the sky and admire its starry soup. Loki may not have seemed the type, but he loved to lie out in the open for hours on end and I loved lying next to him. Though Loki valued his solitude, he still always enjoyed having me there with him.

We rode for a little while longer before Loki felt we were a good distance from the city. Though we were not terribly far, it was still far enough to feel as if we had left it all behind.

Loki picked a spot and dismounted. He helped me off and then grabbed the rolled up blanket he had strapped to the back of the saddle. He had not brought food, but I suspected it was because he knew I would have already eaten and I knew he had, as well. Besides, it was not as if we would be out here all day.

Loki let Bíta roam and then spread the blanket on the ground; it was lumpy in several places due to the tall grass beneath it, but it acted as a sort of cushion. After we had sat down, I rested my head against his shoulder and he glanced down as I took his hand in mine and traced the lines of his open palm with my fingertip.

“Did you practice while I was away?”

“Yes. I am ready to move on to something else.”

I had left Loki earlier this week with the task of mastering our latest seidr lesson. There had been no doubt in my mind that he would perfect it in the time I was away. He had grown especially adept at seidr, now able to perform many spells without uttering the runes.

Loki and I had only recently begun practicing seidr again. One day a few months ago, the queen had related to me that she had finally—barely—managed to convince the king that Loki should resume with his seidr lessons. She said it had taken months to persuade him, but she had finally won. Though our lessons had been reduced to only once a week instead of three times a week, it was still better than nothing.

“What will you teach me next?” he asked.

“I know not,” I said softly. “I’ve not planned this far ahead.”

He laughed. “What a terrible teacher you are.”

“Oh, please. You did not even know how to manipulate fire when I came.”

“That was Frigga’s fault.”

I rolled my eyes. “Look at you trying to blame your mother. What would she say?”

But Loki only chuckled. He fell backwards and pulled me with him; I went willingly and lay on my back next to him. I turned my head to look at him as he rolled onto his side to face me and then propped his head up on his arm. We stared at one another for a long moment before Loki’s eyes slowly drifted down and he leaned over to lightly press his nose into my shoulder.

“I love you, Stjarna,” he murmured, letting his lips brush against me.

I smiled, though he could not see, and felt this delicious warmth spread through me.

Loki did not often tell me that he loved me. He had only said it once or twice to me in the past year, and always at the oddest moments. I did not mind it, though; I knew Loki was not the sentimental type and I did not expect him to change for me like that, but he had not been lying to me that night when he had promised to let me know every day that he loved me. Though he did not often say it with his words, he showed me in other ways. I knew he loved me in the way he kissed me, in the way he held me and the way he made love to me. But Loki had been right, for never was I in doubt that he was in love with me.

After a long moment, Loki lifted up to drag his lips across my shoulder. He turned his face and began kissing my neck. I could feel the wetness of his tongue tickling the tender spot beneath my ear, the brief sharpness of his teeth as he nipped painlessly at my earlobe.

Loki wrapped an arm around me and pulled me closer.

“Did you miss me, Loki?” I laughed, putting my hand on his arm.

I had been gone from the palace—and Loki’s bed—for four days.

“Yes, but I managed,” he said shamelessly.

I closed my eyes and smiled.

“It does not compare to you, though...” he breathed, giving my earlobe another playful nibble.

“Does it not?” I whispered faintly, and somewhat inattentively, as he continued to lavish affection to the side of my neck.

Loki’s hand traveled down towards the apex of my thighs, moving with tantalizing slowness. I thought he might touch me through my dress, but instead he grabbed a handful of my skirts and pulled them up until he was able to slip his hand beneath to get at the spot between my thighs.

I slightly spread my legs for him and pulled one up, opening myself up for him. He touched me lightly at first, only trailing his fingers up the crease of my inner thigh, tormentingly close to my most intimate parts, in which already I could feel this empty ache beginning.

Loki lowered his hand and I nearly stiffened when he dragged one long finger up my sex, pausing at the top to tease my bud. He idly played with me, spreading the quickly accumulating wetness of my desire around, slowly circling that little bundle of nerves with his thumb and occasionally letting his fingers drift lower to brush against my entrance.

He raised his head to look down at me just as I lifted my hips, seeking more of his touch, but instead of giving me what I wanted, he pulled his hand away and would not touch me again until I lowered myself back onto the ground. Internally I cursed him and his wretched teasing, but on the outside I was breathing his name with such adulation, my eyes surely glassy with desire and focused intently on his pale green ones.

And then just as he easily slid one finger into me—finally—he captured my lips in a heady kiss. I reached up to tangle my fingers in his hair as he pushed his tongue past my teeth. I attempted to return the kiss, but it was difficult; I could hardly focus on anything but the feeling of his fingers buried between my legs and I moaned into his mouth.

Loki broke the kiss, leaving me breathless and wanting to writhe beneath him, and lowered his face to kiss the front of my throat. I lifted my head and arched up off the ground when he slipped a second finger inside me and began to languorously draw them in and out, occasionally curling them. I could not lie still and was unable to keep from squeezing my legs on his hand as he touched me. I even reached down to urge him deeper into me. He licked me, grazed my heated skin with his teeth, and I could feel this slow heat building in my lower half with each indolent pass of his fingers.

I clutched Loki to me, head rolled back and lips parted. My breaths were coming faster and when I panted his name, he chuckled against my skin.

“Do you want me, Stjarna?” he nearly growled, his voice low with desire. He turned his head and once again nipped at my earlobe, causing a thrill to go through my body and straight to the spot between my legs.

But two could play this game.

I grabbed his wrist and though it pained me to stop him, I went to sit up. I draped my leg over his hips and pushed against him until he was on his back and I sitting astride him. I squeezed my legs on his thighs, already missing the feel of his fingers inside me.

He was smirking at me, but I would quickly fix that.

I still held his wrist and I leaned forward, attempting to hold back a smile. I brought his hand, still glistening with my desire, close to my lips and saw his own part as I ran my tongue up one of his fingers.

Loki watched me now in breathless silence as I sucked on him, savoring my own heady flavor. I held his gaze as I caressed his fingers with my tongue inside my mouth and then used my teeth to scrape up their entire length. Before long, I could feel the swell of his arousal between my spread legs, pressing enticingly hard into my aching center.

When I had sucked each one of his fingers clean and afterwards licked his palm for good measure, I reached to pin both of his arms next to his head—not that I could actually pin Loki down, for he was much stronger than me, but sometimes he would indulge me—and bent forward to kiss him.

My hair, which I had worn loose today, tumbled down over my shoulders and was ruffled by the gentle breeze snaking its way across the field. Loki lifted his head and eagerly kissed me back, wanting to taste me. He pushed his tongue past my parted lips and I opened my mouth to deepen the kiss. I gave a slight roll of my hips against him and he lifted his own to mirror my movement.

“Do you want me, Loki?” I murmured with a mischievous smile, turning my face to begin kissing the side of his neck. He did not reply to me, but instead tilted his head back. Though I loved it when Loki kissed my neck, I knew he also liked it when I did it to him.

When I finally sat up, Loki slowly opened his eyes, which were cloudy with desire, and looked up at me.

I let go of his wrists and put my hands on his stomach. “You are wearing too much clothing.”

He smirked at me. “Then undress me, darling.”

“It is too much trouble,” I whispered, leaning down to kiss him once more. I was already aching for him to be inside me and did not want to take the time to undress him—or myself.

I broke the kiss, moved backwards on top of him, and began fumbling with the front of his leather outfit, trying to reach under a flap to get at the laces of his pants. Luckily he had not dressed to complexly this morning and soon enough I had his pants undone and was hooking my fingers in the top.

Loki wordlessly lifted his hips as I tugged his pants down. I smiled when I saw how aroused he already was from just my earlier attentions. I crawled back over him, lifting my skirts and arranging them around us. I splayed my hands on his stomach and positioned myself over him. I looked down at his face as I slowly sank down onto him and smiled when he groaned.

When I was fully seated on him, Loki breathed my name. I sat there for a long, delicious moment, savoring the incredible feeling of him filling me so completely. Loki never failed to make me feel like this.

All was warm and quiet, only the light rustling of the tall grass to be heard and our heavy breaths as I rolled my hips slowly, almost lazily, on top of him. Loki slipped his hands beneath my dress and dug his fingers into the soft flesh of my upper thighs.

I moved languidly, not wishing to rush this. We had been apart for four days and I could feel my release already building once again, this pressure in my lower half coiling tighter and tighter. And all the while, I gazed down at Loki; his eyes were closed, lips parted slightly, and his expression—one he always got when I rode him—was one of pure, frustrated pleasure.

I moved my hands from his stomach to either side of him and leaned forward to begin slowly moving back and forth on top of him. As I moved, I lowered my head and kissed him lightly on the lips.

“Did you imagine this… lying in your bed?” I whispered, somewhat breathlessly, ceasing briefly in my movements to languorously roll my hips on him.

Loki slowly opened his eyes to look up at me. “Not quite,” he breathed.

Before I could even attempt to respond, Loki tightened his hold on my hips and I gasped loudly as he rolled us over. He pushed all the way into me in one stroke, causing me to arch up off the ground and moan. He grinned down at me, but it was more a hungry smile than anything.

Loki easily caught my wrists and pinned them next to my head. It was not like when I had pinned him down, though—even if I had wanted up, I could not have budged him. I lay helpless beneath him as he leaned down. He traced my top and bottom lip lightly with the tip of his tongue and my lips parted for him.

“Do you like teasing me, Stjarna?” he said before licking my lips.

“You seemed to be enjoying it,” I protested, attempting to subtly twist beneath him to encourage him. When still he did not move, I lifted my hips, almost in desperation, for I could feel my release falling away and he knew it.

He grinned, then, and ground his hips against me. His movement caused me to once again arch beneath him and whimper.

“You bastard,” I said breathlessly, lifting my legs and wrapping them around his narrow waist.

Loki lowered his face and gently kissed the top of my shoulder. “Mmm… I like it when you call me names.”

I laughed at his comment and let my head fall back. Loki raised his head to plant a tender kiss on my chin and lips. He let go of one of my wrists and twined our fingers together before he began moving above me, then, deep rhythmical strokes that within moments had me nearly gasping for air.

I pressed my cheek to the side of Loki’s head as he thrust into me, mouth open, breaths coming unevenly, and eyes fixed on the eternal cascade of stars above.

I could feel myself rising to it, for I had already been so close before; there was this heat broiling in my lower half and I managed to whimper Loki’s name, letting him know that I was on the edge. Loki heard me and suddenly his thrusts became harder, deeper, and not moments later I came undone. I lifted up and cried out and squeezed my eyes shut.

There was this pleasure surging through my body, wave after wave of paralyzing ecstasy flooding every part of me. I was tumbling along with these incessant waves inside me, rising and falling and drowning in this boundless sea of stars, bursting behind my eyelids.

And even as I lay immobile beneath him, mouth open in a silent cry, Loki kept moving, kept chasing his own release, and then I heard him groan and felt his driving rhythm falter. He buried his face into my neck, mouth wide open and breaths coming hot and heavy against my skin. Loki managed to roll his hips against me before his body went rigid against mine and he came inside me. We were both frozen against one another, both of us engulfed and lost together in this euphoria.

It was only when the tremors of my release began to subside that I managed to open my eyes. My breaths were coming quickly and I felt a shiver run through Loki’s body. He disentangled our fingers, let go of my wrist, and slowly let his head rest against mine as he tried to slow his panting.

I turned my head and pressed my nose to the side of his head, into his soft hair slightly damp with sweat. I let out a small laugh, my entire body still tingling with pleasure, and wrapped my arms around him and buried my face in between his neck and shoulder. I could feel this cloud of warmth inside me, this wonderful feeling of contentment, of completeness.

We stayed like that for a long while before Loki finally roused himself and lifted up on his arms. He gingerly kissed me on the lips and then pushed his nose against mine. I smiled and kissed him back before he pulled out of me and fell onto his back. I stared up at the sky, allowing my breaths to return to normal, as Loki pulled his pants back up. I pushed my dress down and once he had his pants laced, I turned onto my side, draped one of my legs over the front of his hips, and rested my head against the front of his shoulder.

Loki wrapped one arm around me and began to listlessly curl a lock of my hair around his fingers. His other hand he had on his stomach and I took it and tiredly stroked his fingers.

We lay in silence for a long while with nothing to be heard but the drowsy rustling of the grass all around us.

Eventually, I murmured, “What are you thinking about?”

He did not reply for a long time—so long, in fact, that I thought he might have drifted off into sleep, despite it still being morning. But then he said, “I was thinking about if I would have lost you.”

“What do you mean?” I asked quietly, not bothering to open my eyes.

“A year ago.”

Now I slowly opened my eyes. I tilted my head up to look at him, but Loki was gazing up at the sky and its interminable blanket of stars.

I was not sure if he was talking about when Valdrlund had almost taken me back to Vanaheim, when the Allfather had nearly exiled me, or when I had been going to return to my family.

“Sometimes I think about if I were to wake up one morning and you were gone…”

“That will not happen,” I assured him. “That was all so long ago.”

“Not long enough,” he said softly.

I did not say anything immediately. Admittedly, I had tried to forget the events of a year ago, or at least push them to the recesses of my mind. There was no room for those terrible memories when my days now were filled with such happiness.

“But I did not leave,” I finally said. “I stayed.”

“Yes,” Loki breathed, curling his fingers with mine.

That seemed the end of it, and so I nestled even farther into Loki’s embrace and sighed contentedly.

But now that Loki had brought all of that up, I could not help but to ruminate on all that had led up to the events of a year ago. Though I had tried my best to put Valdrlund behind me, I knew that he would always be a part of me—it was unavoidable. But I did not have to let the memory of him control me, nor did I have to let Loki’s past injustices to me keep me from loving him now.

Though I knew I would never forget—or forgive—what Loki had done to me, it all seemed so far away now. How easy it was to forget everything else, lying here without seemingly a care in the world. How easy it was, how comforting, to imagine that we were the only two beings in the universe, lying together beneath this vast expanse of space, and that like it we might never end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are multiple one shots which take place in between Parts I and II. They are not terribly imperative to the story as a whole, but merely loosely chronicle Loki and Stjarna's relationship in the centuries preceding Part II.
> 
> You may see them all here: archiveofourown.org/users/renlem/works
> 
> I would strongly suggest reading them in this order:
> 
> Loki's Gift  
> AO3: archiveofourown.org/works/5597824  
> Tumblr: renlem.tumblr.com/post/136362660056/stjarnavetr-one-shot-lokis-gift
> 
> Skera  
> AO3: archiveofourown.org/works/7411039  
> Tumblr: renlem.tumblr.com/post/147013053781/stjarnavetr-one-shot-skera
> 
> Interrupted  
> AO3: archiveofourown.org/works/5772523  
> Tumblr: renlem.tumblr.com/post/137703381561/stjarnavetr-one-shot-interrupted
> 
> Anniversary  
> AO3: archiveofourown.org/works/5850985  
> Tumblr: renlem.tumblr.com/post/138306015231/stjarnavetr-one-shot-anniversary
> 
> Andlát  
> AO3: archiveofourown.org/works/5997076  
> Tumblr: renlem.tumblr.com/post/139266069271/stjarnavetr-one-shot-andlát
> 
> Loki's Return  
> AO3: archiveofourown.org/works/6131399  
> Tumblr: renlem.tumblr.com/post/140195076711/stjarnavetr-one-shot-lokis-return
> 
> After you read these one shots, you may continue on to Part II.
> 
> Part II  
> AO3: archiveofourown.org/works/6435799/chapters/14732065  
> Tumblr: renlem.tumblr.com/post/142122602391/stjarnavetr-part-ii-chapter-1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I would greatly appreciate any feedback! "Stjarnavetr" can also be found at renlem.tumblr.com, a blog exclusively for this fanfic.


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